A/N: I can't believe there's only one episode left of Young Justice... and the League still hasn't returned! Glad to see Wally back, though. =D

I'll admit it. This chapter was terrible to write. Well, it was. Until I scrapped the whole thing and made it interesting. I think you'll like it now. ;)

I know you're probably wondering where Dick is in this story, because I did list him as one of the main characters. He's coming in chapter 5 or 6, but I haven't decided which one yet. Don't worry, though, he's coming.

And the story continues…

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Chapter 3: Breaking Apart

Training Sector C02

18 September 2017 [0700 hours]

Tim couldn't help but feel a slight sense of relief that Dick and Barbara were not currently accompanying him. If they had witnessed the last two days, the two older heroes would have been extremely disappointed in their partner-in-crime.

'Amateur mistakes,' Tim scolded himself. Had he not only cooperated with the Reach and exhibited emotional weakness, he had compromised an ally's cover while under enemy watch.

The mistake had an instantaneous effect. His head throbbed with the familiar intense pain, pulling him into the surface of unconsciousness. As Tim released his grip on M'gann to grasp his head, the knife dropped with a clatter. Breaths were heavy and emotions were high when Tim caught the last seconds the simulation.

"B-but," Tim stuttered through clenched teeth, "you're… d-dead." He moved one hand from his head to push himself away from the impersonator.

A wisp. A chink. Her eyes were suddenly dull and her mouth went slack. Green skin and short red hair emerged from the pale emerald-eyed blonde.

After a moment frozen, M'gann fell forward. Her new position revealed a large black dart lodged in the back of her neck. Four Reach agents emerged from behind, grabbed her arms, and dragged her away.

Dragged M'gann away.

"NOOO!" Tim screamed through the pain and confusion overtaking him into the darkness. As he outstretched his hand to his unconscious friend, he felt icy fingers across his chest and shoulders holding him back from engaging.

Tim had never resented the imminent darkness in all of his life as much as this moment.

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Reach Base 13A

18 September 2017 [Estimated Time: 1200 hours]

It was very possible that hours had passed since he had awoken inside the luminous red room. His eyes were latched to the door, ready to pounce the moment Caralack entered. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he blinked away from his point of interest.

He hadn't woken in restraints. It was peculiar, yes, but Tim was certain that even if his metal bracelets were connected, he would have had the rage to break free.

Several times a Reach agent entered the room, engaged in a small brawl with the Boy Wonder (that almost every time ended with an unbearable dose of electric shocks), either refilled his glass of water or supplemented his 'closet' with a new set of clothing, and left before Tim could escape through the narrow doorway.

His knuckles were raw and bleeding from pounding against the metal barrier that separated him from answers. Tim leaned his back against the door, rested his head back, and stretched out his legs before him.

He swore he was going mad. Mind racing with distorted memories and confused theories, the once-clear vision of M'gann was slowly fading away. He told himself that there were plenty of rational explanations behind it. Because that's what Robins are supposed to do—analyze, hypothesize, and engage.

He had, of course, analyzed the situation innumerable times in an attempt to somehow derive crucial indications to a solution. Hypotheses soon followed. Miss Martian could have slipped past the aliens in an endeavor to save Tim. She could have been brainwashed and forced to work with the Reach.

But every theory was designated impossible.

'M'gann is dead.'

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a deep breath. The hunger that was painfully present but a few hours ago had substantially subsided. His throat, however, remained dry and rough. Eying the cup of water that Tim had ignored since he first awoke, he decided that it wouldn't do him any good to die of thirst before Caralack finally faced him.

It was improbable that they would have drugged the water when they intended to use Tim as a weapon, anyways. The risk of the water containing the "nutrients" included in the commercialized Reach products, however, was high, but Tim determined the risk worth it.

His limbs were shaking with exhaustion, and he had developed a slight twitch due to the electricity, but Tim managed to drag himself from the floor and over the side table beside his—the bed.

When his fingers wrapped around the glass, he realized that it wasn't glass at all. Instead, the cup was made of a transparent plastic insulator.

Tim half-snickered, half-coughed. 'Glass breaks. Glass shards are sharp. Sharp things can cut through restraints… and alien skin.' As he lifted the water to his mouth, his ears perked to indicate a detected noise.

The door swung open. Two identical guards entered the room, their steps in uniform, and walked towards the Boy Wonder.

Tim raised an eyebrow, hoping for better results than the past few brawls with the guards.

He hurled the cup of lukewarm water at the first Reach alien, then spun to bestow the second guard a kick to the gut. An arm wrapped around Tim's neck to lock his head against the original (wet) guard's stomach, but Tim grabbed its wrist and wrenched the alien over his head and unto its back. The second alien recovered quickly from the first blow and dived into the fight. A strong force, much resembling the collision of a brick wall, thrust him backwards and pinned him to a wall. His vision had gone blurry after hitting his head against the solid surface behind him, and it took him a few seconds for his sight to return clear. A few seconds too long, he realized, when the second alien reinforced the first's grip on Tim's shoulders and wrists. He struggled against their hold, but Tim was too weak to break it.

A tall, green alien strolled into view. Tarcol was not with him. The guards had been sent in to restrain Tim before Caralack entered. Though they had not needed to use it to overpower Robin, they were refraining from using electrical shocks. Perhaps they wished Tim fully conscious when Caralack began speaking.

Tim, though, was the first to talk.

"You lied," he hissed at the alien, "Miss Martian isn't dead. The Team isn't dead."

Tim's heart rose for a moment at the thought of Batgirl alive. Impulse, Miss M, Blue Beetle, and Beast Boy alive.

Caralack's placid expression was unfaltered. "Earthling, you have misunderstood the situation at hand."

"Misunderstood?" Tim pushed forward, but the guards held him back against the wall, "I know what I saw! And last time I checked, Martians don't have the power to come back as ghosts. She's alive. They're all alive."

Tim may have expected an immediate response from the alien, but he didn't get one. Instead, Caralack seemed to inspect him for a moment before responding. "You were experiencing the effects of illusion gas. What you saw was a hallucination. It was a test to assess your ability to detect dangerous gasses and your immunity towards succumbing into their impact. You failed."

Tim glared at Caralack for a moment, considering the truth of the statement.

"Don't believe me," asked Caralack, holding up a small black remote control, "this is video footage of the simulation." Suddenly, a holographic screen appeared above the remote. The perspective of the camera was from the corner of the ceiling with a bird's eye view on Tim, who was on his knees and holding the wrist of a young blonde. There were ten bodies on the ground around them. A blood puddle formed at his feet. The camera must have been able to pick up simulation holographs too.

Tim watched as the screen displayed his mouth moving to form the words "Miss Martian", but there was no audio to confirm it. The knife dropped a moment later, and he gripped his head, as if he was encased in a terrible pain. But he couldn't hear his screams.

Tim frowned at the surveillance video. He knew what happened. He didn't need to confirm it. He waited for the girl to stiffen, to turn green, to turn into his teammate.

But it never happened.

"What?" Tim murmured under his breath as he watched himself on the screen push away from the girl. A handprint of blood formed on the cement as he lifted his arm to his head once again. A moment later though, he was reaching forward to grasp the air. He waved his arm in front of him, but he seemed to have been held back by invisible hands, because he never engaged. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

No dart. No guards. No M'gann.

"As you may have noticed," the alien deactivated the screen and pocketed the remote control, "no one was in the Simulation Room."

"No," Tim told Caralack in disbelief of the video, "Miss Martian was there!"

"Impossible. The walls of the Training Quarters were constructed to be impenetrable by shape shifters." Caralack cleared his throat. "That would, though, be entailing that said subject is alive. The gas triggered intense chemical reactions in the hippocampus of your brain that led you to believe what you were experiencing was reality."

Tim scowled at Caralack. 'His facial features don't indicate lying, though as part of the Reach, they must get used to lying to the public. Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he's lying through his teeth. Either way, I have to know.'

"I was not aware that the first reaction a human has to tragedy is denial." Caralack paced around the room for a moment, then walked towards Robin and positioned his head close to his so Tim was forced to make eye contact. The red glow turned the alien's green skin blue. "As this will interfere with your training, you will be expected to overcome this emotion immediately."

Tim's burning hatred for Caralack seemed to be growing by the second. His face was so close to his that is was tempting to spit in it. And if he had any moisture in his mouth he might have. Tim rubbed his dry tongue against the roof of his mouth. He really wished he had drunken the water when he had the chance.

"Perhaps that this," Caralack lifted his thin green hand up to Robin's black mask. Tim didn't flinch, "is a memento of your past. Removing it may… relieve you of any grief and," he peeled a corner of the mask from Tim's face, "open your eyes to a brighter future."

Tim moved his head to the right and shielded his face with the guards shoulder. An icy hand, though, gripped his chin and forced his head towards Caralack once again. The guards' grip on his shoulders and wrists were so tight they cut into his skin, but he forced himself not to cringe in pain.

Tim scowled at Caralack as he reached for his mask once again.

"If you do not wish me to remove your mask, then I will not." He returned his hands to his side, "It does not interfere; it is insignificant."

Tim silently sighed in relief.

"You are in no condition presently to continue training. With the proper nutrients and a night's rest, however, you will be able to resume the H.A.R.D. program tomorrow morning."

The guards released their grip on Tim's wrists to let the metal bracelets attach, then regained hold on both hands. Caralack pressed an apple against the palm of his hand. Tim looked at it for a moment, admiring its bright red color and imagining the juicy flesh burst inside his dry mouth. His hunger soon returned and he hoped none of the aliens heard his stomach growl.

"Eat. The Reach prides its well developed fruit products on their taste."

The comment only enforced the reality of the situation. The Reach genetically enhanced their products with harmful additives.

He looked up at Caralack. And dropped the apple to the floor.

Caralack narrowed his eyes, though by his lack of expression, he expected Tim do react this way.

"Guards, please proceed."

Tim hissed when a needle was suddenly inserted into his right shoulder. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from making any further indications of distress and blinked away the moisture collecting in his eyes.

"If you will not willingly ingest essential provisions, we are forced to revert to extreme tactics."

Silence followed as the needle was taken from Tim's arm. Caralack seemed to have completed whatever mission he had walked through the door to tackle, and began walking towards the exit.

Tim, on the other hand, was unsatisfied.

"Wait," he breathed.

Caralack turned, eyebrows raised and eyes dull.

"Prove it." His body may have been limp against the guards' grip, but his face was contorted with anger. "Prove to me that they're here."

Caralack was quick to object. "This is co—"

"I want to see Nightwing," Tim interrupted.

"Earthling, have you no concept of authority? You are not the one giving orders. You cooperate at our command."

"Or what?," Tim spat, "die? I'd rather drop dead than support the Reach."

"That is why, Subject 1-02, you have not been given a choice. We won't let you die. There is only one option here." Caralack's cool words slipped off his tongue. "Your friends are dead. Those who are not, abide under a strict program. They have cooperated. In time, so shall you." The alien nodded to the guards.

It was difficult to suppress a grunt after such a powerful collision with his jaw. Stars swirled before his eyes. Tim felt the guards release him and the solid impact of the chilled floor against his sore shoulder. He rolled over, unsteadily pushed himself into a half-sitting-half-leaning position, and narrowed his eyes against the spinning world.

"Never," he attempted to say, but his throat was clogged and he spat blood.

He dropped his arms from their support and lay against the ground, careful to avoid the blood stains inches away from his resting position. He began to rub his jaw, but every simple movement seemed to trigger a series of sharp explosions. What was the chance, he thought to himself, that the substance they injected into his shoulder had an infusion of healing essence?

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Reach Sector A01

18 September 2017 [1300 hours]

"The Earthling?" The tone was hard, but the voice had a soft nature, as if it was just as simple for him to retain a friendly manner as to order an execution.

"He will cooperate." Caralack stood far from the mysterious figure who faced towards a large surveillance screen at the back of the room. There was silence, but Caralack remained in his position.

"Yes, Caralack?"

"I am sorry to say that there is a small problem. He requested a visit from one of his former teammates."

"I see…" he turned and a shadow was lifted from his green skin, "I presume you handled the situation?"

"Of course," Caralack said quickly, "The issue will be resolved by morning."

There was a sigh. "He does not, as the humans say, 'have any idea' of the magnitude of the situation that he's entwined in."

Caralack's lips formed a respectful smile.

"Not an inkling, Ambassador."

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A/N: You think you know what their plan might be? Tell me what you think! :)