The only problem with hacking is that sometimes you accidentally attract the attention of a crazy evil mastermind with daddy issues. You also sometimes find firewalls you didn't expect, that sucks too.

Other than that, Robin quite liked hacking. It was cool way to pass time. It also made him feel quite important on hacking missions, like it did during the beginning of the (temporary, really it was more of a heroic hiatus) end.

Robin had just slipped into the central console room, away from the massive brawl in the main hallway. Like usual, he'd been sent ahead of the chaos to fulfill the mission objective: obtaining the information on the console. His teammates guarded the doors. He could hear their mental chatter through the link as he plugged in the USB and typed rapidly, breaking down the first basic barriers. General stuff.

Hurry up, Rob! Mom made roast beef for dinner tonight! Wally said through the mental link.

To quote Toy Story: "You can't rush art!" Robin shot back.

The hacking became progressively harder and the Boy Wonder smirked. It was nice to have a challenge once in awhile. He broke through the last codes, ready to access the files when a whole new firewall sprung up from seemingly nowhere.

What the... He thought, unintentionally broadcasting through the mind link.

Is everything alright, Robin? Aqualad asked.

Yeah, just gonna take a bit longer than I thought. Sorry guys. Robin said. He continued to hack, typing even faster. Admittedly, it was one of the hardest codes he'd ever had to crack. If he was less biased, he might even judge it as almost equal to Batman's skills. Actually... the style of programming was eerily similar to his mentors, making it simultaneously easier and harder to hack. It was easier because he knew what to expect and harder because all his usual shortcomings when it came to hacking stood out. Slowly, one string of code at a time, he worked his way through the firewall. By the end of it his hand had cramped, his eyes stung and the sounds of battle outside had slowed. He downloaded the files as fast as he could through the screen-induced haze, deleted the originals and turned around.

Straight into a fist.

Before he'd even closed the holo-computer, Robin smashed into the console he'd just hacked, skull snapping against the screen. Instinctively, he raised a forearm just in time to block another punch to the gut, giving him the split second he needed to regain his balance and spring into a defensive stance. It took another split second—and a messy block—to blink strings of code from his eyes and get a clear view of his attacker. Black and orange mask, one eye... Robin's mind scrambled, trying to remember the criminal profiles he'd seen.

The man tsked, "That block was sloppy, Renegade. You know you can do better than that."

Finally, the mask clicked. "Deathstroke," Robin ducked a high punch, "not like you could do better. You fight like- Wait, Renegade?"

Deathstroke chuckled, sending an irrational flash of fear through the boy in front of him. Usually, assassins were old news, even one such a high profile. Something about that chuckle, though, unnerved Robin, which was odd. He'd faced thousands of arguably scarier guys and never felt quite as uneasy as he did right now.

The momentary lapse in attention cost him. While Robin was reminiscing, Deathstroke had feinted left and kicked right, catching the teen off guard. He dodged, barely, the kick glancing off his ribs. In an attempt to extract himself from between the assassin and the console, Robin ducked left under Deathstroke's arm and managed to flip into a clear space.

For a moment, the two stared at each other, poised.

Then Deathstroke drew his swords.

Oh crap, Robin thought, flinging himself to the side to avoid what would have been a deadly blow.

Robin? You alright? M'gann's voice called through the link, startling him. He'd forgotten about the mind link.

You guys finishing up back there? 'Cause I- Ah! A sword sliced through Robin's uniform giving him a thick gash on his right bicep. He pressed a gloved hand to it, backing away and drawing his escrima sticks. The dual wield of the swords was really getting to Robin. He'd dodge one only for the other to come out of nowhere, forcing drastic dodges that took a lot of energy. Deathstroke seemed to know exactly how to tire Robin out and had managed to drive the teen into a corner again. Robin glanced behind him. He didn't have much room left, making him feel claustrophobic. He'd need to block the next shot to avoid getting completely boxed in. Right on cue, metal clanged as sword met escrima, Robin catching one of Deathstroke's swords above his head between his two sticks. If he had been a millisecond slower, the sword would have cut him in half from top to bottom. The two stood for a second, arms trembling in a tense push for leverage.

"Good, Renegade, good… but not good enough." Deathstroke chuckled.

"For the last time, what is with 'Renega-!'" Robin stopped short as Deathstroke's second sword slashed between his ribs leaving a long gash right over a lot of precious organs. His arms buckled, dropping the escrima sticks and the sword they had been blocking straight towards his head. With a desperate yelp, Robin leapt out of the way far too slowly. The sword sank into his shoulder and he braced, expecting it to cut his arm clean off. Before it could, however, Deathstroke threw his weight back, pulling the sword with him. The boy wonder stared up at the man, confused and dazed by the fresh onslaught of pain flowing through his shoulder. With one quick move, Slade's sword knocked Robin's escrima sticks out of his bloody hands. Finally registering the continued threat, Robin stumbled backwards, shoulder blades arching when they came into contact with the corner, gloved hand putting pressure on the open wound in his shoulder. At least he still had a shoulder, which Deathstroke could have easily cut off. Why didn't he cut it off? Robin mused

What?! Wally half-shouted into the mind link. Meanwhile, Deathstroke had sheathed his swords (why?) and tucked the escrima sticks into a pocket of his suit (wha- why?).

Robin, what's going on? Aqualad's concerned voice flashed through Robin's thought process.

Right! Guys, I could really use some- agh! Apparently, Deathstroke had elected to continue the fight without weapons. He'd swung a powerful right hook towards Robin's injured side, which Robin managed to duck. Head back in the game, the boy wonder smirked, feeling the walls of the corner on his sides. He jumped straight up and, using the wall as a springboard, executed a clean double somersault over Deathstroke's head, giving it a strong kick as he passed to land neatly in the open area again. As always, room to move gave a little kick to Robin's adrenaline, dulling the pain. He noticed with satisfaction that the last kick had been strong enough to crack Deathstroke's mask, showing a sliver of Slade's features underneath. Slade's smirking features underneath. Robin snarled, if he had to ask one more 'why' today he'd explode.

"Very good, Renegade. Though better coordination through pain is something you need to work on."

Robin stared at him, "What the… you're giving me advice? Why-!"

The door exploded, the team in all it's glory charging into the room. Robin couldn't help the smile that split his face as his backup stood, ready to fight. He turned back to Deathstroke, triumphant-

"He's gone!"

"Who's gone, Robin?" Aqualad said, "and what happened here?"

"What happened to you?" M'gann yelped, swooping out from behind Superboy.

Robin looked around. He could see what they meant. The room (especially the hacked console) was in shambles, full of random holes in the walls and floor, blood smears, dents… and nothing else.

"Deathstroke." Robin hissed.