Chapter 2

After the events of the night before, Robin had felt it very necessary, if any, to do research on this new costumed hero, a seemingly independent one who wanted to join the Titans. Of course, the first order, no, the first demand was sleep. He didn't know it, but he was exhausted, mentally, emotionally and physically. The cumulative stress of handling not only the Brotherhood of Evil, but the suppressed tension of having been in prolonged close proximity with Starfire and Raven, even as his hormones began to kick in even more, meant that he was exhausted.

Exhausted at controlling himself, of always having to subvert his baser desires, of having to always maintain his seeming calm as leader of the group, of having to struggle in his dreams between two very desirable females whom he lived with. But mostly, it was just plain, pure fatigue. To stop, regroup, relax and sleep. Yes. An undisturbed sleep. He would kill for such a night, a rarity. All of them would.

Dragging off his socks and clad only in a pair of cotton boxers, the windows left open to admit the sea breeze, Richard Grayson fell into a deep sleep, at peace with the world for the night.

SWSWSW

In her chambers, Raven scanned the tower with her mind, her empathy sensing the palpable fatigue of each and every individual, though Starfire and Cyborg were better off than when compared to the others of the team. The former because of her alien physiology, the latter because of his cybernetic body. Somehow, she could not meditate that night. It was a feeling of unease, ever since she had met him. Something about the one calling himself the Black Tiger disturbed her immensely. She could not pinpoint it, but she somehow sensed an aura of immense tragedy. When she had been trapped within the fluidic nanomachine, she had felt a profound depression so great that she had stopped struggling, stopped wanting to live. She knew that it had occurred when he had freed them with his sword.

The sword. That was the key in this entire scheme. Something about it stirred a sense of primeval terror within her. Her empathy had sensed a powerful negativity, a void of emptiness, for just a few moments, before he had sheathed it. She had also scanned him, sensed the calm neutrality he maintained in his emotions. Such control and discipline in them, and an extreme resistance to whatever force that sword exerted. However, beneath that all, she had swept across a deep well of passion and emotion beneath the thick wall of discipline, through a small chink in his wall of discipline that was swiftly closed to her. The emotion and cursing displayed earlier, she had heard it faintly, had been an anomaly.

The manner in which he referred to her as well was...intriguing. She had never met him before in her entire life, as far back as she could remember, had never met anyone who resembled him. Yet, the way he referred to her, as 'Lady Raven', as if she was some aristocrat worthy of respect, the respect and deference he made obvious in both body language and voice, showed that he had observed her, or at least knew something of her, and saw something worthy of respect.

His name; Aziz Yap Gang Hu. A name filled with meaning. Aziz; an Arab name meaning 'valued' as well as 'powerful'. Gang Hu was a name meaning "Unyielding Tiger". Yap was the family name. He was obviously not an American, especially given his name. A foreigner like her then, given that she had come from Azarath. His most distinguishing feature though, was his aura. After he had left, she had questioned the others, with Beast Boy vocalising it first. Danger. After they had recovered, it had retreated beneath a layer of calm, nothing indicated by him in the aftermath of their rescue. The air of a casual killer. Layer upon layer, and that one was thick with it. Restraint. It had dissappeared with the destruction of threat to their lives, replaced by a calm observation and courtesy.

A potential recruit, and one they would take their time in evaluating, especially after that affair with Terra. As she lay in bed, slowly drifting off to sleep, she remembered the grey eyes of his face, the old man's eyes filled with danger and something that hinted at a deep passion and sorrow beneath. Her last conscious thought: "Eyes that have seen atrocities and... death of innocence". She did not know it then, but she was right.

SWSWSW

On the rooftop of the warehouse, the Black Tiger scanned the area, listening in on the police and civil defence frequencies for any forms of trouble. It was a cool night, and he took off his helmet to enjoy the night air, letting it fill his senses. So different yet similar from where he had come. This place, this time, so different yet so similar to his home, where he was nothing but a memory, a soldier from a time of war. It was strange, being in a teenage body again, feeling the urges of youth as he had once felt them. Yet, he was ageless. He was mortal, that was in no doubt, but what he had experienced in the timeless planes beyond, they had changed him in a fundamental way. Memories filled his awareness, nostalgia flooding it briefly before he detached himself from it, turning it toward monitoring the frequencies. Biologically, he was an adolescent. Mentally, spiritually and chronologically, he was far beyond a mortal human in his experience of time.

For the protection of Lady Raven, his adoptive 'parent' had sent him here, telling him to cooperate with the other 'children' and detachments of 'himself', as he termed it. For lack of comprehension, his 'parent' was genderless, but did exhibit a tendency to express himself or 'emself' in either genderless or male term. In an odd sense, the other beings with him on this world could be considered siblings, but were all immortal, and of a rather different nature. Onraed and his 'daughters', more accurately being independent detachments, Sophia Mendes and Ang Lin Ying, rather prominent and rising business personalities, as well as Achyuta Singh Nair, a pioneering electronics and software engineer. They were the prime examples as well as the prime movers of the plan. There was a plan for this universe, simple and direct, though the manner of execution, discrete. As for Lady Raven, higher powers had ordained that she would have a part to play in this entire enterprise, and was to be protected. As to her companions, wild cards one and all. He would deal with them, if it ever came to that.

Putting his helmet back on, he heard an exchange on police frequencies, of a domestic disturbance. Turning to look back at the lights of the city, spread out before him, the Tiger leapt off the side of the building, rolling as he landed on the next one, making a final circuit before heading back home. In the neighbourhoods patrolled by the Black Tiger, few, if any criminals dared to tread. Only the foolhardy did so.

SWSWSW

Cyborg processed the information, using his own search filters and sophisticated artificial intelligence programs to look for any references to the Black Tiger. Newspaper articles and editorials from the weeks they had been away fighting the Brotherhood, as well as detailed police reports about incidents involving the Black Tiger poured into his system. While his organic brain slowly assimilated it, his electronic brain with its powerful neural network stored it away for further reference and analysis.

Looking at the time, he realised it was 4 am in the morning. Only then did he realise exactly how tired he was. Shutting down the computer, he set the alarm for 6 hours of rest before closing his eyes. Raven had confided in him some of what she had read of this new character, how she was disturbed by him. The reports seemed to confirm some truth to this. To all appearances and analysis by the city police and established psychologists, he was a vigilante with a growing reputation among the criminal underworld for his ruthlessness in dealing with crime. The people who had been saved by him had given consistent descriptions; a courteous individual, face obscured by a visor, wearing a uniform similar to Deathstroke, with the addition of flowing cloth at the thighs, and seemingly indestructible bracers and greaves, as well as an aura of ferocity and danger about him.

Consistently dangerous, he had no qualms with dealing with violent criminals, though outwardly showed signs of restraint towards those who did not resist. The few grainy videos of him that had been captured showed an individual possessing exceptional ability in the martial arts and gymnastics, as well as a proficient and lethal combatant and street fighter, from the obvious lack of effort on his part when it came to fighting individuals or small groups, choosing instead to disarm them with tear gas or police-issue rubber bullets. Most criminals who encountered him regretted it later, for they were often left with broken bones and bruises. It seemed that the Black Tiger followed a policy of proportionate response, but with a few exceptions.

Cyborg looked at a police video taken from a helicopter, as it tracked the Black Tigers movements over the rooftops. Reluctantly, Cyborg had to admit that he lived up to his namesake. The movements were fluid, swift, and beautiful, all the while being a danger.

Unplugging himself, he strolled to his tray, letting his body functions lapse into sleep.

SWSWSW

Garfield tossed in bed, muttering her name. Her image kept recurring in his mind. The girl who looked so much like her, it HAD to be her. Her rock figure was gone from the grotto where Slade had died. She had the same voice, the same eyes, the mole just beneath her nose, at the tip of her mouth, the freckles were the same, her eyes were the same. She even had the same gesture she had when she was nervous, a small tic at the corner of her mouth.

It just had to be her. So why did she deny it?

In a heart that had known loss, and in a mind that was being driven somewhat crazy by hormones, Garfield Logan was in turmoil over the first love of his life, and the other one, with eyes of violet that melted him, his secret desire, both warring for the focus of his mind. Fevered dreams filled his minds, as he uneasily sank into it, seduced by the slow dance of the sirens in his dreams.

SWSWSW

On a darkened screen, a menacing figure looked on as Slade paced in his old lair, newly refurbished and disguised as a warehouse. Wintergreen stood to the side, having been freed by Slade from his frozen cocoon in South America. The rest of the incompetent Brotherhood could be left to rot for all he cared, but not his butler and confidante. No matter his faults, Slade always rewarded loyalty, and did have a sense of honour, though one would be hard-pressed to perceive it. He followed a code, but a flexible one.

"My employer seeks your collaboration in certain enterprises" sneered the figure from across the screen, in a tone filled with arrogance and disdain. "Certain…individuals within your city are of great interest to us. Though why he would want to work with you is questionable, given your previous record of failures with regard to this…unruly group of teenage hooligans. Why, even…" before he was abruptly cut off, blood coating the screen as his head rolled away from view, his body dragged off-screen by unseen hands.

Deathstroke stared indifferently, while Wintergreen winced. Slowly, a new face came on, with eyes like pits from hell. A brute of a man, with glittering intelligence and slabs of muscle visible beneath a business suit, a high widow's peak of hair and bronze skin, obviously of Mediterranean descent. Speaking with a clipped British accent, with subtle menacing undertones, he introduced himself.

"Forgive me for that inconvenience. My name is Ascanio Rosa. My former partner was prone to too much talk. We have a business proposition. We deal in narcotics and weapons in the underground economy, or the 'black market' as most people term it. We would like to operate in Jump City, arm the crime families, given the recent unrest and civil war among them. There is profit to be made, and intriguing individuals to be found at work there. Since you understand the local region, we find it profitable to seek a facilitator like you. Would you accept?"

Slade silently pondered this, staring at the screen, before uttering a single word. "Yes."

"Then it is decided. Tomorrow, our contact and 3 bodyguards will meet you. Be in civilian clothing, at Warehouse 7, East Docks. The time will be at approximately 8 pm." With that, the screen blinked off, the transmission cut.

Slade quietly pondered the conversation. His new partners were reclusive and rather mysterious, but fabulously wealthy. Going by the label of the Society of Ahriman, they were an organisation that was immensely wealthy, wielded enormous clout due to their wealth and rivalled the League of Assassins in secrecy; if the League of Assassins was a formidable opponent, the Society of Ahriman was a master of the art. They only contacted you when they wanted to, and were almost impossible to find. Similarly, they had only arisen within the last 5 years, making their meteoric rise even more mysterious. Rather like the fabled Illuminati of Christian myth, they had a vast reach and tremendous political and financial wealth at their disposal. Conservative estimate by some underground financiers had put their economic wealth in assets and cash at a value of 1.35 trillion euros, though what their assets were, he did not know. Most attempts to trace them ended in failure, as well as the death of any hired agent in mysterious accidents.

"So, they wish to start a branch here in Jump City. Interesting" were the private thoughts that flowed through his mind, as well as a small sense of unease. On many levels, the murder of that man had been a rather obvious message. They did not tolerate the slightest, most indirect insinuation of incompetence against their superiors. A message made plain by the offhand murder of their first envoy. An indicator of extreme arrogance. If anything, this would be an interesting venture, as well as a way of gaining essential funds. He had to dip into his active funds more than normal, and the level of money in the account was uncomfortable, to say the least.

SWSWSW

Ascanio watched as the body was carried away, while androids efficiently and methodically cleaned up the mess. Harris was a waste of manpower, and his death had been planned from the beginning. An act designed to keep Deathstroke off balance and unsure of the Society and its methods. As any good servant, criticism and feedback, done constructively, contributed to the efficient management of the Society. It simply served as an effective means to orchestrate a death like this, to keep potential enemies off balance.

There was no such thing as friends in this world, only neutral parties with mutual interests or enemies. Nothing else mattered except power and wealth. As far as he was concerned, that was it to him. Coming from a poor background, he had worked for the Bernito Mafia as an enforcer, rising through the ranks from a mere foot soldier to a trusted bodyguard of the Don. That is, until the Don was assassinated by a sniper's bullet, causing a gang war to erupt. The war had swiftly settled after the entry of the League of Ahriman, which had integrated the two opposing families into its operations.

His actions had distinguished him, his marksmanship and tactical acumen making him a proficient field commander on par with a junior military officer of the Italian family, a natural talent combined with his ability to lead people, as well as intimidate and coerce through use of his tremendous physical strength, a natural talent trained and channelled into strength training and boxing. After the absorption, he had caught the attention of higher command for his talent at assassination, having killed 3 US DEA Agents and 32 Colombian cartel runners rather inventively, either by ropes, poison, bullets, or the laws of physics.

Now, he was a bodyguard to The Lord Imperial of the Society, Derman Ugorj. The man who had given him wealth and power beyond his wildest dreams. Now, he would rise even higher, assigned to an American operation. New markets, new wealth.

The though then came unbidden into his mind; "Money is not the root of evil, but the desire for it is". He smiled, remembering the verses from his catechism class as a child. Yes, desire and greed. And tonight, he desired something…carnal. Yes, he would pay a visit to the decadent brothels of the Society, where flesh was traded for coin. Greed, in a way, was good.