Hey anyone reading this! Okay, I have a few things to get out of the way before I start this. First order of business: the disclaimer.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans, blah de blah de blah.
Second, anyone reading this who is one of those ultimate fans, DC comics, who do major research and read all the comics and stuff, I'm not that kind of person. I know Slade AKA that assassin guy already has those kids. I don't care. Just bear with me and pretend none of that ever happened. ANd for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, ignore these past few lines.
Third: This is more or less an experiment on my part. So, I repeat, bear with me.
Ok, here we go. Enjoy!
SLADE P.O.V.
She dissapeared 6 months after the birth. She didn't love me, not really, but that was not relevant. She gave birth to Sonja, nursed Sonja, loved Sonja. And then, in the middle of the night, just left. No idea how, as there was only one exit to my 'lair', as some people call it, and it was heavily guarded. Anyway, She left me to take car of a child I didn't have time for. She betrayed me.
My wife.
I tried to take care of Sonja, or rather, made robots to take care of Sonja, but when she turned four, I had plans I needed to work on. And I had no time for little girl. I had left Sonja as a ward of the state and was not surprised that she ran away. Several times. Though each time she did, she was caught, each time there was a longer breadth of time before the capture. She was clever, just like her father.
I finally decided, after Robin and Terra, that I needed a new apprentice. One that would trust me, relate to me. One that wouldn't disobey. I knew that Sonja would be perfect. A strong little girl, of great intellect. I could harness her skills, her mind, and hone her abilities. Make her like more me. Now, I just needed to find the eleven-year-old little runaway...
SONJA P.O.V.
I walked out of the thrift store with a few bags and slipped into the nearest gas station (only across the parking lot, no biggie). Staring straight ahead, I slid past the rows of tantalizing food and into the bathroom, escaping the watchful eyes of the man at the counter. Once inside I began digging through the bags, pulling out the contents one by one.
I slipped on the dark jeans, and then tucked into my pocket my phone and the money I had snagged from my recent foster family and unsuspecting passersby. Then I yanked on the form-fitting black t-shirt, which was soon followed by the plain white hoodie. Done dressing, I pulled out a couple of ponytail holders and put my chocolate waves of hair into a braid down my back. Unlike some desperate runaways, I would not be cutting my hair. A choppy hairstyle would probably attract unwanted attention. Besides, I had spent a long time growing out my hair. It was now down to the small of my back, and I would not be cutting it all off now.
I slipped on the brown hiking boots that would be helpful if I needed to make a quick getaway, and stowed everything else into the canvas bag. I hesitated, then started stowing what little weaponry I had.
I was more experienced than I had been my first time running away, and definitely more experienced than your average runaway. My being what you could call gifted, or more accurately a prodigy, assisted my efforts greatly. My more recent families had been foolish enough to enroll me in self-defense and gymnastics, and I was self-taught at a few... more unorthodox fighting methods. YouTube had been a large benefactor to my skills.
I slipped my standard pocketknife into my back pocket, and then tucked my two throwing knives that were almost certainly illegal into my boots, one in each. It's amazing what you can buy on the Internet. I considered putting my lock-picks into my jacket, but discarded the idea. Putting all of them in there would create a bulge that people would notice, but leaving them all in my bag would be foolish. I decided to simply put one in my jacket pocked, and did so.
Done with my 'makeover', I stepped out of the bathroom, walked outside of the gas station, and went around to the back of the building. Once I got there, I sat down on the filthy concrete, pulled out my worn composition book and a pencil, and went over my plan again to make sure it was foolproof and, if needed, make the necessary tweaks.
I was going to either hitchhike or steal a bike (both were bad ideas, the question was which was more likely and which was more illegal.), somehow get transportation to either a poor or populated area of California, and basically pretend to be homeless. Not the ideal situation, but either I could make it better through money (money can buy anything, either material objects or people), or obtain the pity of some saps trying to help a 'poor innocent kid'. Hygiene was going to be an issue, but that was the price I had to pay for freedom from those idiots.
I didn't sense the figure on the roof above me, reading every word, until he shifted and I caught a glance of moving shadow. I pretended not to notice, and nonchalantly shifted so, not only did I have access to my boot and the knife within it, I would spring up at a moment's notice. I carefully, trying not to visibly move much, slipped a knife from my boot and slid it under my legs.
I shut the notebook, set it down next to me, and leaned my head back against the wall, pretending to be exhausted. It wasn't hard. I hadn't slept since I had slipped out in the middle of the previous night. I detected a slight shift of the figure above, and right as he silently jumped down, I tensed, popped the knife from the pavement and into my ready hand. I shot forward in a double somersault to get some distance, flipped the knife in my hand, and launched it towards the strange person landing right where I had been a few moments ago.
He dodged, and let the knife hit the wall, and then fall to the ground. I snatched the other knife form my left leg, and carefully aimed and threw it. HE dodged quickly again, more athletic and fit than many people I had met before. HE knelt, picked up the two knives that were now actually special to me, and straightened slowly, inspecting them.
I quickly, but with slightly shaking hands, grabbed the blade from my pocket, flicked it open, and held it between me and the strange man. He was definitely not some ordinary stranger. Not only was he very skilled athletically, he also was dressed peculiarly. The black armor was strange enough in itself without the mask that was black on one side and bronze on the other, and seemingly had only one eye hole.
His build indicated a grown man, in his thirties or forties. Interesting. "Good choice in knives, child," he said, in a low, smooth voice. "Black steel, razor sharp, and almost perfectly balanced. You have good taste." I bristled. "They used to be perfectly balanced. The coating of a rubber solution, though only a millimeter thick, was enough to just barely change it. A necessary sacrifice so my fingerprint cannot be elected from the handle. Still perfectly capable of being stuck through someone." I said.
"Very good. You are intellectually above many. You will work more efficiently than I had hoped." Now I was slightly wary. I knew he probably wished me to serve some purpose. If he laid one finger on me without my permission, I would not hesitate to shove my pocketknife through him. But if it got rid of my plans to live on the streets... this could work to my advantage.
"So, Sonja," I filed away the fact that he knew my name for later, "That is a thought-out plan. But how would you like to avoid it?" I was mentally screaming YES. "I'm listening." I said, keeping my voice even and uninterested.
He spoke again in that unnerving voice of his. "What would you say if I said that I am your father and I could train you to be a perfectly capable criminal?" Ok, so he was nuts. What else is new? "I would say that you are either mentally imbalanced or extremely cliche." I said, acting amused. "My name is Slade. You can call me Deathstroke if you wish." Wait a minute... Deathstroke? I had read about him. He was a previous assassin. The resemblance in color schemes and similarities in builds and abilities were adding up...
"Slade, huh? Well, I wouldn't be surprised that some criminal mastermind was my father." I said, scoffing. He simply said in that even voice that was growing familiar and that I recognized to be similar to my own, "Oh? And why not? "Some, if not all, of the intellect you possess is also mine." I said smugly.
"So?" He said, sounding slightly impatient. "My offer stands unanswered. Would you like to train to become the next great criminal?" It was tempting... there was a large chance this was a trick, but if it was authentic, this could be huge.
"I will accept." I said. I leaned down, placed my notebook in my bag, and slung it over my shoulder. He nodded, and gestured toward the edge of the building, where a black van (very incognito, Slade) was waiting, the driver's seat already occupied by what I was assuming was a robot. I walked towards the car, and slipped into the back. I watched as Slade walked around the front of the car, opened the side door, and slid smoothly into the seat next to me. He leaned down and opened a briefcase, not bothering to close the door.
"I am sorry about this, but you are not trusted. At least, not yet." He pulled a rag from the briefcase, and a strange chemical scent filled the car. When he leaned forward and tried to shove it against my face, I recognized it to be chloroform. I reached backwards, flung open the car door, and leapt from the van at a run. If I could just make it around to the front, he couldn't get me.
I felt strong arms wrap around me, yank me off my feet, and fling me into the air back where I had ran from. I was surprised when I landed upside down in the van that no bones were broken, or even sprained or dislocated. I felt the rough rag be shoved against my face, but held my breath. I acted out the appropriate response, at first fighting but then batting my movements grow sluggish and eventually collapsed.
Slade caught me with surprisingly tender touches, and laid me back straight in my seat. He fastened the seat belt (why did he bother?), went out to sit in the passenger seat up front, and pressed a button. Then the figure drove forward, out of the lot and onto the road. I cracked open one eye to see them sitting there, staring forwards. I smirked slightly, making sure not to make too noticeable movements. I would go along with this for now, but I wasn't playing by Slade's rules. I was playing by my own.