RR76: Endless cascades of apology for getting this up as late as I did. The document manager was being fucktarded. Very annoying.

Ahem.

As all five of my regular readership will know, this story is the fourth in the series of stories that began on a quiet winter's night with "Carson." I like to think I've improved as a writer since then, therefor this story will be vastly less shitty than my earliest work.

The first scenes are parallel to the final chapters of Ascension--that is, the first two scenes of the chapter occur simultaniously to the climax of the previous story. While Cassius Pavayne sets the stage for Raven's Ascension, another power works to fill the void left by Trigon's death.

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."-Macbeth

12:00 AM

"You're late."

The words rang in Director Wilson's ears. The hollow, monotone voice of his collegue never ceaced to unsettle his nerves--nerves that had been tested in battle countless times, yet could not withstand the empty voice of the Brain.

"I had a prior engagement," Wilson explained casually. "I do have a life outside of you, you know."

"A prior engagement?" Though he knew it was inpossible, Wilson swore he could hear a hint of sarcasm in the Brain's tone. "Really. And what did this "prior engagement," entail?"

"Dinner with a client," Wilson shot off, sounding very much as if he had rehearsed the reply. "He's filing a case against the city of Riverside. Something about 'the man'. violating his constitutional right to be 'up,' thus keeping him 'down.'"

"Considering we are in your building, in your city, your excuse is rather...inexcusable." The liquid in the Brain's tank seemed to froth with self-satisfaction."Kindly endeavour to be more punctual in the future."

"I'll bear that in mind," Wilson replied, making a mental note to do the exact opposite. Desperately, he searched for something to turn the discussion away from his tardiness.

"It is fortunate you did arrive eventually," the Brain noted, rolling next to Slade with a mechanical whir. "You were assigned this project for a reason."

"Why, because of my people skills?" Wilson asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

"Don't be coy, Director." Obviously, somebody woke up on the right side of the grey matter. "Would you deign to enlighten me as to what this project will accomplish? I cannot see why the Senior Partners would waste valuable resources on something as frivolous as this."

Wilson hid his surprise. The Brain was his superior. The fact that he hadn't been given the whole story gave him a feeling of superiority, followed by one of suspicion. Exactly what were the Partners planning?

He brushed it aside for the moment, tucking it away at the back of his mind. Busywork for another time. "You've seen the signs; heard the reports," Wilson began, choosing his words carefully. Better to draw this out as long as possible than to slip and give away everything. "A void has been left behind with Trigon the Terrible's destruction. Various demonic forces are rushing to fill that void."

"I had heard about Cassius Pavayne's resurfacing," the Brain said. "My sources are telling me that he has already begun his Ascension. Confirm or deny, Director Wilson?"

Wilson inwardly sighed. The Brain was more on top of things than he'd guessed. "It's been confirmed The situation is being resolved as we speak, however." He could always count on Robin to be an unwitting puppet in a crisis.

"This...power vacuum...the Senior Partners believe that this project will be able to fill it?" The Brain asked.

Wilson hid a smirk. He still held all the pieces. "That's the popular theory. However, it hinges on a great many things--the most important of which, I am about to introduce you to."

His left eye--the only one he had the use of--wandered around the chamber. It was bare, nothing but grey concrete and cobwebs as far as the eye could see. The only thing to break the monotony of the room's decor was the single wooden door on the far side of the room, aged and splintered, but still fully functional.

Behind that door, Wilson thought, is the key to everything..

"My friend," he said quietly, the irony in the statement fully registering, "I think it's time I showed you what exactly is going on here."

The door swung open with a soft creak, allowing Wilson to step inside with the Brain in tow. The room was nothing more than an alcove, no larger than a walk-in closet. An old toilet, it's white porceline finish peeling, and a half-used roll of toilet paper sat in the corner, the only furnishings in the otherwise empty chamber.

The chamber held an occupent, however. He sat curled in a ball, in the far corner of the room, naked but for a pair of thin, ragged shorts that kept his privates mercifully decent. His body was pale from lack of exposure to sunlight, clammy and moist, yet well-muscled. Scars--some faint, one or two fresh ones, along with burns from what may have been a cattle prod--adorned his torso.

Slowly, quivering, he raised his head to the intruders. Tangled, disheveled black locks fell around his head, framing the grimace of confused fear that he held on his face.

"You're awake, I see," Wilson said to the occupent. "Are we in a more cooperative mood now?"

"Cooperative?" the Brain inquired.

"When we first brought him here, he caused quite a bit of trouble," Wilson explained, regarding the man in the corner with a patronizing smile. He spoke as one would speak to a child. "Killed one of the nice warlocks who brought him into this world, didn't you, 'general?'" He spat the title as one would a curse.

The man didn't answer. His face fell and he stared at the ground again.

"Not the talkative sort, is he?" the Brain asked, bemused.

"He's not said a word since he arrived," Wilson said. "Don't expect to get much by way of conversation out of--"

"...cold."

"What was that?" Wilson was genuinely surprised at the remark. "You're cold?"

His head rose again. Pale blue eyes took in the sight of his observers. His vocal chords, long-dormant, were incapable of producing anything more than a hoarse whisper. "It's been so long...I'd forgotten how it feels to be cold." He shivered, and huddled closer to himself.

"If you like," Wilson said, his tone calm and reassuring, "We can remind you how it feels to be warm."

The man's spirits seemed to lift at the remark. His eyes locked onto Wilson's face. He said nothing, but the goal of the Director was established--Wilson had the man's undivided attention.

Wilson continued working his silver tounge. "The feeling of a full belly. The satisfaction of a cool drink. The warmth of a blanket." Wilson's eye seemed to spark as he spoke the next sentence. "The esctasy of love. We can remind you what those are like," he continued."

The light in the man's eyes seemed to flash. "You do not know what it is I want," he said, his voice almost a snarl.

"Quite the contrary." Wilson produced a small object from his pocket and toyed with it in his hand for a bit. It glittered in the meager light of the outside chamber, reflecting onto the prisoner's body. He shrank away at the sight of it. "I believe we know precicely what it is you want."

With those words, Wilson tossed the object to the quivering man before him. It struck the ground and slid across the hard cement floor, right into the man's outstretched palm. He raised it to his face and regarded it carefully for an instant. His jaw worked, his eyes focused, as if trying to remember some long lost--

Something clicked suddenly. He sprang to his feet, still clutching the object, leaning on the wall for support but standing on his own two feet for the first time in days. "Where did you get this?" he demanded. "Tell me!"

"So rude," Wilson scoffed. "And I do hate rude people."

"At least he is up and about," the Brain remarked. "He would be a grand waste of resources had he stayed that way."

The man's frustration, simmering since his arrival, finally boiled over. He charged Wilson--or rather, staggered at him rather quickly--raised his right arm, and swung a meaty fist at Wilson's head.

Wilson's arm intercepted the fist and drove his elbow smashed into the man's stomach. He collapsed to his knees, gasping and clutching at his torso in pain.

"If you're going to treat your host this way, then I can very easily lock you in here, remove the meager comforts you have, and let you live off of your own feces. I'd prefer it not come to that, however. Nothing gets rid of that aftertaste." Wilson knelt in front of the man, getting up into his face. "My superiors exerted quite a bit to bring you here. They would be most displeased to hear that you had rebelled, and needed to be...put down."

"Is that what I am?" the man spat. "A beast at bay?"

Wilson smiled. "Do you want to hear my offer, or not?"

"I am growin impatient, Director," the Brain said. "Either bring him into the fold, or shoot him."

Wilson seemed to consider this. "He may not be particularly good with words, but he does have a point." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a .35 Magnum, bringing it point-blank to the man's forehead. "I've shown you the reward for good behavior, my good man," he said, motioning to the object still clutched in his opponent's hand. "You can have that--and much more--if you will simply hear me out."

The man stared down the barrel of the pistol for a moment, weighing the options. His gaze left the weapon and went to the object, still clutched in his hand--a steel barrette, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, in the shape of a butterfly...

"I'll do it."

"Do what?" Wilson said, still enjoying his little game.

The man gritted his teeth and, swallowing his bile, said "Whatever you ask of me."

"Good man." Wilson returned the gun to it's holster and stood, offering his hand to the man. "The prodigal knight has made his descision."

"Spare me," he snapped, smacking away Wilson's outstretched hand. "Just tell me what you want."

"All in due time. You must be quite hungry though." Wilson motioned towards the open door. "An attendent will take you upstairs and set you up with some clothes and something to eat."

He stared at the door, then at Wilson, still not quite believing the situation at hand. "Then...then I am free?"

"Oh, heavens no," Wilson chuckled. "Free of this basement, perhaps, but not free of us. Go on, we'll speak more when you're finished eating."

The man wasted no time. A man of his upbringing and standards would have demanded better, refused to submit, and gone out fighting.

With this unique situation, however, one could hardly blame him for submitting so easily. And with that, the prodigal knight, reduced to a humble beggar, crawled out the open door. with his tail between his legs.

Six months later
Rain pounded the streets of Gotham city. All across the city, people hurried about for cover, slamming doors behind them, sliding windows shut, turning on the heater and snuggling up with a mug of cocoa, a warm blanket, a book, a loved one, whatever they could find that was snugglable. In a lonely ghetto in the south side of Gotham, the un-snugglable made do with what they could find.

The door to a red brick apartment building swung open. In ran a boy, barely 15 years of age, soaked to the bone in rainwater. He slammed the door shut behind him, sniffing loudly. Must've caught a cold somewhere along the line. Touching his hand to his nose, he felt the liquid was warmer--and thinner--than mucous normally was. He pulled his hand back to discover it was blood--his nose was no doubt broken

Fucking Batman. He shivered.

He looked around the run-down lobby, perplexed. It was completely devoid of human activity--not unusual for this run-down pit a hotel, but usually there was at least SOMEBODY around. "Maury?" he called out.

No answer.

Sweat gathered on the back of his neck. Somebody missing tends to mean the worse in this town. "Maury!" he yelled, louder.

A muffled squeak, accompanied by a creaking noise, met his ears. Understanding dawned on him. He crossed the distance to the front desk stealthily, drew a .45 revolver, inhaled sharply, and swung the weapon over the desk.

A loud shriek--unmistakably female. He peered over the desk to find a woman, horse-faced and clad in red lingere, straddling a balding, portly man in his mid-forties.

He sighed. "Maury."

Maury groaned. "God-fucking-dammit Carson, why is it that every time I'm not exactly where you think I should be at every given moment, you think that I've been mortally wounded?"

Carson Elam shrugged and holstered his weapon. "Either that, or a hooker's played you for a sucker again."

Maury climbed to his feet, scowling. "I keep tellin' you, it was just that one time, and we tracked down my kidney anyway. No harm done."

The hooker in question, an unnattractive woman of about thirty-two, stood over the desk, adjusting her bra. "Um, is this a bad time? Should I go?"

"Nah, it's cool Peps," Maury cooed. "Get up to your room. We'll continue this in private." He grinned and swatted the woman's butt, eliciting a squeak from his escort before she hurried up the worn wooden stairs to her room.

Carson sighed. "You realize, 'she,' was once a 'he,' right?"

"Say what you want," Maury replied, pulling on a pair of briefs and reaching for a bathrobe, "Pepperanne makes a hot woman."

"Well, you're very open about your lifestyle choices, which is good I suppose," Carson taunted, flopping down on a moth-eaten armchair in a corner of the room.

Maury produced two cans from a mini-fridge--pilfered from a garage sale last Tuesday--and joined Carson, sitting on a wooden crate across from an old coffee table. "As if I'm gonna take that from the guy who's got the hots for the daughter of Trigon the fucking Terrible." He tossed one of the cans--a grape Fanta--to Carson, who opened it and gulped down half immediately.

Realizing that Carson was going to ignore the remark, Maury changed the subject. "So, uh...what's with the nose?"

Carson set the can on the table and wiped his mouth on his damp sleeve--only succeeding in making the area around his mouth more moist, and only slightly less purple. "Oh, this?" He laughed. "Funny story, your 'sources,' set me up. It was a sting operation.'"

"You've been in those kinds of scrapes before, kid," Maury said with a hint of skepticism. "Came out of every one of them without a scratch."

"Yeah, well..." Carson looked away. "Batman was with them."

"Batman?" Maury's eyes widened. "THE Batman? 'The Dark Knight,' defender of Gotham, THAT Batman?"

Carson looked at Maury out of the corner of his eye. "No, the Batman that washes the windows on Thursdays." He noticed Maury's continued excitement, and remarked "You realize, you are making a complete douchebag out of yourself?"

"Sorry," Maury said, lowering his voice a bit but retaining the excited grin. "He's kind of a personal hero of mine, y'know? Saved my ass back in '98."

"Whatever...he's really not so tough Maury," Carson said dismissively, sipping his grape soda again.

"Right," Maury said, skepticism again showing in his voice. "And that nose you got there would in no way prove you're full of shit?"

"Hey, he got the drop on me," Carson said defensively. "Hell, it wouldn't make a difference, one way or another. There must have been 50 people in that nightclub, and not a one among them was marked for death."

Maury finally opened his can--a Miller--and took a slow sip. "As if that would stop you," he mumbled into the can.

Carson tilted his head--commenly known for signifying his displeasure at something. "Do you have something you want to share with the rest of the class, Maury?"

Maury sighed. He set the can down on the coffee table next to Carson's. "Hell, I was planning on talking to you about it anyway...guess it's now or never." He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"...Don't tell me," Carson said, sitting back in his chair. "Pepperanne proposed to you somewhere between handjobs, and you want me to give you away at the wedding?"

"Dammit Carson!" Maury slammed his fist down on the coffee table, causing the splintered wood to buckle slightly. He stared at Carson with an intensity in his eyes that rarely manifested itself. He took another few deep breaths, and calmed himself. "Kid, I'm worried about you. Seriously, I am. Ever since you got back from Jump City, you've been--"

"Different? As if I'm not really myself? I've changed, my methods are more brutal, less methodical, with a particular taste for wanton slaughter over success?" Carson supplied.

Maury's face paled a bit. "Well, when you put it that way..."

"I know," Carson interrupted, his head lowering a bit. "I've noticed it too."

Maury sighed. "I've been with ya for the last four years, kiddo. I've watched you grow up from that scrappy li'l ten year old pickpocket to the unbelievably deadly man sittin' across from me now. I've helped you through the hard times, whether it be heartbreak or near-fatal stab wounds, and I wanna help you through this one."

"Don't bother," Carson replied. He rose from the chair and stepped towards the staircase. "It's not something that can be helped."

"You know that for certain?" Maury pressed.

Carson paused at the threshold. "I do," he said softly. He ascended the first few steps. "Give a shout if you hear anything new," he called over his shoulder. "And for God's sake, soundproof your bedroom."

The warm California sun shone on the streets of Jump City, the heat radiating off the black asphault. Though the heat was on, the people would not be deterred in their daily activities. Mothers wheeled strollers down the street, teenagers clung to each other in hormonal bliss, and cars bustled along the major streets of the sunny metropolis. One car, in particular, was home to a serious crisis of faith.

"It's retarded! It's stupid, it's worthless, she'd never like it!" Beast Boy groaned as collapsed in the passenger seat of the T-car.

"C'mon man, don't be so hard on yourself," the driver, Cyborg, replied. "I mean, you're retarded, stupid and worthless, and she's in love with you."

Beast Boy glared at him "Yeah, but I'm also dead sexy and hilarious. Of course she'd love me." He toyed with a tiny cardboard box in his hands. "But this? It's crap! It's the worst damn gift a guy could buy!"

"No, the worst damn gift a guy could buy is an over-sized sweater with the words 'Warm Milk for You,' stitched onto the breasts in big red writing," Cyborg gently corrected.

"Oh yeah." Beast Boy laughed. "Think Sarah'll ever speak to you again?"

Cyborg shrugged. "Doubt it. We had a nice run anyway though."

"Eight days isn't what I'd call 'a nice run,' Cy." Beast Boy laughed again, then sighed as the weight of his predicament settled firmly on his shoulders once more. "Seriously though dude, how could I fuck up so bad?"

"Dude, I didn't say it was a bad gift," Cyborg said. "All I said was that it was kinda simplistic."

Beast Boy mumbled something and opened the box, peering at the contents. A small, metal bracelet, linked together by several interlocking sections of metal, their monotomy broken by several beads, blue and violet respectively, peered back at him. He had asked the woman at the discount kiosk about it, who promptly informed him that it was both "pretty," and "dazzlicioius," and that he should "shell out the cash for it before some other jackass got to it first."

"I should have gotten her diamonds," he concluded. "Chicks dig diamonds, right?"

Cyborg considered. "Nah, I don't think diamonds are really her thing either. She's not really the kind of girl who just throws it all out there."

"You mean a ho?" Beast Boy asked.

Cyborg smacked him upside the head. "No, artard. Wearing diamonds doesn't make a girl a ho." The T-car reached the bay that seperated Jump City from Titan's Tower, and Cyborg put the car on autopilot for the remainder of the drive. "Raven's subtle. She never says exactly what she's thinking, and when she does, she isn't all flashy about it."

Something smacked against the outside of the car--a fish of some kind. Cyborg inwardly cringed at the dent it no doubt caused, but put it out of his mind and continued his speech. "Diamonds show that someone is outgoing. They don't have anything to hide, and they don't wanna be all introverted and quiet and shy and shit like that. There's nothin' wrong with bein' all cheerful like that, but it's just not who Raven is."

The T-car pulled into the Titan's Tower garage. "So besides diamonds, what should I have gotten her?"

"Honestly?" Cyborg stepped out of the car and shut the door, inspecting the damage from the collision earlier. Not even a scratch. Cyborg inwardly smiled at his magnificent engineering. "Nuthin'. The girl loves you 'cuz you're so great for her, not because you've got money--well, no more than the rest of us anyway."

The duo entered the massive freight elevator--the only way up to the main levels of the Tower--and awaited transport. "So what you're saying is that Raven loves me for who I am, not for what I do?"

"Again, no," Cyborg replied. The doors shut on them, and the elevator ascended. "What you do and who you are go hand in hand alot of the time. I'm saying that Raven will love you no less if you just be who you are for her, and stop worrying about buying her affection with shiny jewelry."

The elevator came to a screetching halt, and the doors slid open to the living room of the Tower. "Since when did you become so wise?" Beast Boy asked, grinning at the bionic man.

Cyborg laughed. "Hey, everybody's gotta have at least one super-smart token black friend."

Beast Boy returned the laugh. "True dat, homie."

Cyborg swatted him on the head again. "Never again, dude." The two exited the elevator to join their comrades in the living room.

Robin and Starfire were sprawled out on the couch in each other's arms. A blanket was draped over their bodies. Starfire yawned and snuggled closer to Robin, who was flipping through channels, totally uninterested in what was on TV, and much more interested in idly playing with Starfire's hair. Beast Boy paid them no heed and went straight for Raven, who was sitting on the kitchen table with a book in her hands.

"Hey beautiful," he chimed merrily.

She looked up from her book and smiled--an expression that was quickly becoming more common with her, in small doses anyway. "Hey." Beast Boy leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips, before joining her on the table. "What'cha reading?" he asked, peering over his girlfriend's shoulder.

"'Of Mice and Men,'" she replied. "Not really such a tough read, but I like the imagery."

"What's it about? Mice? Men? Is it smut? It's smut, isn't it?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She stared at him, a bit disappointed, though mildly amused at his assumptions that she was reading porn. "Migrent workers. You've never read it?"

"Raven, if it's not written in big bold letters with pretty pictures on every other page, I've never read it," Beast Boy replied with a loopy half-grin.

Raven placed a bookmark in the novel and shut it. "What about that stack I checked out of the library for you? Tell me you've at least started reading 'Heart of Darkness.'"

"Yeah, well...I started to, but then I kinda got sidetracked." Beast Boy fidgeted nervously. "See, I was listening to the radio at the same time, and I heard about a sale at a somewhere, and I couldn't really resist myself, so..." He produced the tiny cardboard box and presented it to Raven.

She regarded it carefully. "What is it?"

"It's an anteater."

Raven smirked. "I never would have guessed." She observed it a bit. Plain brown cardboard, nothing special, no markings--discount jewelry kiosk at the mall? Hell yes. She opened the box.

Beast Boy braced himself for the worst. "I know, it's retarded, it's stupid, it's worthless, you hate it, you'd never wear it, you think it's repulsive, you'd prefer diamonds, you're never speaking to me again, you're pregnant with Aqualad's child, you--"

"Beast Boy?"

"Raven?"

She raised her right forearm. The bracelet dangled off of her wrist, blue and violet stones matching both her outfit and personality perfectly. Beast Boy's jaw hung in disbelief for a moment, and Raven chuckled at his dumbfoundedness. "As if I could ever reject anything that came from you." She leaned forward and her lips connected with his, their tounges interlocking in a practiced motion.

After a moment, they broke away. "If that's the case, how come you've always rejected the idea of third base?"

A sexy, seductive grin spread across Raven's face. "Play your cards right..." Her hand traced a path up Beast Boy's thigh. He shuddered, at a loss for words.

"Titans!"

Their moment was shattered. Raven retracted her hand and swore softly. "It never fails, does it?" she muttered. Dropping off of the table, she hurried toward the couch, where Robin and Starfire were now bolt upright.

Robin turned up the volume, as the news anchor settled himself into his chair. "An unsettling event has just dropped in on the Steel City Maximum Security prison. A food truck, delivering a ration of vegetables, arrived to find every living thing in the prison dead."

"We will not share the disturbing images that we managed to gather from the site--the image of the crushed heads of the victims are better left unseen. It is safe to assume that there were no survivors, and--"

Someone off camera handed the anchor a sheet of paper. He read it, set it down, and continued. "We've just recieved an update: One prisoner has been confirmed to be missing. The former headmaster of the H.I.V.E. Academic Institution for Gifted Young People, one Mr...Brother Blood?" He turned and asked off camera, "That's a name?"

The moment of unprofessionalism came and went, as he turned back to the camera. "Blood was booked last year for charges that were not revealed to the public, although it was mentioned that he was to be put under the highest of scrutiny. He is considered to be extremely dangerous, and it is safe to assume that he broke out of his cell, and that the mass slaughter was caused by him."

Robin shut off the TV. "Cyborg?"

"Already on it." Cyborg was at the computor in a flash. "If he's anywhere in damn west coast, I swear to God I'll find him."

In Gotham City, in his own little piece of the world, a bandaged Carson Elam was watching the very same newscast. He shut the TV off and hurried downstairs, where the landlord, Maury, was listening to the radio with another can of beer in his hand--obviously, the encounter with Pepperanne didn't go so well.

Carson jumped the last two stairs and landed with a thud, getting Maury's attention. "Did you hear?"

Maury nodded. "I knew before they did, yeah."

Carson was perplexed. "You knew about this? And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know if it was him or not, okay?" Maury snapped. "My sources only just confirmed it for me."

"The same ones that set me up last time?" Carson asked. My turn to be skeptical.

Maury shook his head. "No, no these guys are more reliable."

Carson's impatience was reaching a boiling point. "And? Is it him?"

Maury was truly frustrated with Carson's adittude lately--his arrogance was a new trait he'd picked up prior to his return, six months ago, and the change was certainly for the worse. However, if he had learned anything from the teenaged assassin, it was that pissing him off did not a good situation make. Sighing loudly, he muttered "yes."

Carson suddenly felt very, very tired. He collapsed onto the bottom step of the old staircase, the burden of that last word taking their toll on him. "After all these months," he said quietly. "He's finally revealed himself."

"Whatever," Maury grumbled. He grabbed a coat out from underneath the desk and stepped towards the door. "I'm goin' out. If you decide to stop being a sandy li'l asshole, drop me a line."

The words went in one ear and out the other, and Maury, frustrated as hell, slammed the door behind him. Carson remained in his own little world, his mind turning over he news.

It's almost time to settle this, he thought. I'll be there, Cassius. This time, you won't survive.

Reviews are always welcome, and required under penalty of severely reduced pay.

-RR76
3:10 PM
11/28/06