Author's Note: Bit of a warning, there may be a scene here that may make people uncomfortable. A little real world controversy, but hopefully it doesn't turn too many people off. Regardless, enjoy.

Conceived in Battle

At some point during this night, caution had been tossed aside. Tim would admit that had probably happened an hour or two ago. Because confronting a suspected thief on the first night you were testing some new equipment on top of a several month absence from crime-fighting was a very smart thing to do.

It was easy to tell that the thief was eyeing him, most likely because they were caught off guard by his appearance. Heh, maybe he was starting to put some fear into these guys by his presence alone. Was this what it was like for Batman?

Then, "Nice outfit Peter Pan. I think the school play's in the other direction."

Any smugness Tim felt vanished instantly. "Sorry, but I was missing my shadow. Looks like I found him," he deadpanned as he uncrossed his arms.

The thief snorted. "That's the best you can do. Why don't you beat it back home, kid? Dress up may be fun for you, but I'm bored." Thanks to the mask, the voice was muffled but still audible. It made the teen vigilante think of this person as a douche.

"Can't. I don't know what you were doing back there, but I'm curious and yes, I'm making it my business," the costumed teen stated, covering all possible points this thief might counter him with.

"Curiosity killed the cat, but cats kill fairy birds too," the thief retorted.

Okay, that was the second time this asshole called him gay.

"One chance, what were you doing back there?" he demanded.

"If you're trying to scare me, you're failing. Badly. I'd say that this was interesting, but then I'd be lying." The thief had the gall to turn his back on the vigilante, preparing to leave.

Like hell. Pulling out a throwing projectile, he activated the explosive inside it and threw it, the disk whirling through the air until it hit the portion of the roof that the thief was facing. The thief gave a yelp at the small burst of flame and smoke, and Tim used that time to remove the distance between them. He grabbed the masked asshole by his shoulder and spun him around, his other hand balled into a fist and ready to nail him.

Tim didn't get the chance. The criminal decked him instead and with such force that the teen flew a few feet backwards, landing and skidding on his back before coming to a stop. For a second he was dazed before he realized that his current position was not right. Sitting up, he winced at he pressed a hand against his chest where he was struck.

The thief was glaring back at him, his body language screaming that he had had enough and was more than willing to have a fight. As Tim got back onto his feet, he figured that he was going to have to give this overly strong bastard one.

Hopefully he wasn't too rusty.

Pushing forward with his legs, the teen vigilante charged at the criminal. Said criminal was waiting for him to get close and was swinging away as soon as he was within range. The vigilante ducked under the blow and threw one of his own into the thief's gut. Spinning around the masked punk, he raised and threw his elbow into the thief's back, forcing him to meet the roof with the front of his body.

Taking a defensive stance, Tim waited for his opponent to push himself back up. The wariness that had been in the criminal's body earlier had returned, and surprisingly he too took up a stance. So, he was fighting someone who knew how to fight also? Let's see where this would go.

The thief struck first, a fist rushing through the air and hoping to make contact with the vigilante's face. Tim twisted his body enough to evade it, then twisted in the other direction to avoid the second punch. He jerked out of the way of a third punch, and followed that blocking the kick that came at him. He winced as he felt the force of the thief's leg ram into his arm.

The teen's feet skidded against the roof. Perhaps there had been more force than he realized. No time to think about it; the thief was on him again. Dodge that punch, latch onto the arm and bring it down so he couldn't use the limb, and—whoa, had to catch the elbow that was flung at him when the thief twisted around.

Bad move there. Even though the force the thief used in that elbow jab was greater than Tim had anticipated, he was able to stop it from connecting with his face. Now he was directly behind the thief and he was pinning both arms behind the asshole's back. That was the plan until the masked teen found himself being throwing over the thief.

The world blurred for a second and then his back met the roof. Air escaped from his lungs and the thief slipped his arms out of the vigilante's pin. A pair of legs placed themselves on either side of the teen's torso, a weight settling on his gut.

Why was he suddenly reminded of MMA fights? Instinctively, Tim brought his arms up to block anything coming out of his head. He was not disappointed, though the blow that he blocked rattled down to his bones. A second and a third punch was blocked before he determined that he needed to get out of this position.

As the fourth punch came, he tilted his head out of the way, the gloved fist cracking into the concrete beneath him. He wrapped his arm around the thief's and tugged down, causing the criminal to lean his weight to the left. With fingers curled in on themselves, Tim punched with the palm of his right hand, striking the thief in the chest and shoving him off.

For a second, he wondered why the thief's chest felt so soft. That was pushed out of his mind as he scrambled back onto his feet, the thief doing the same.

It shouldn't be as surprising as it was that he was breathing hard. Damn he was out of practice. Not that he could say the same about his opponent. Okay, he needed to do something different than take this bastard head on.

Before something, you know, amazing occurred to him, the thief was going on the attack. Swinging at him with a left hook, Tim instinctively reacted with a block, deflecting the blow with his lower left arm. By happenstance, the end of the thief's sleeve caught on to his glove and as a result there was a loud rip.

As the fist passed by his head, Tim's eyes widened as what looked like a pale gold gauntlet came into view. Staggering away, he held both of his arms in front of himself, staring at the unveiled gauntlet, a large strip of cloth dangling beneath it.

"Shit!" the thief swore, glaring at the vigilante. There was some unintelligible noise following that, most likely the thief speaking to himself though what words he said was a mystery. Whatever they were, Tim would not find out, because this mysterious thief went back on the attack, somehow faster than before. He managed to dodge one, two—oof! Couldn't get out of the way of the third.

And by God, that was a powerful hit! The masked teen was sent flying, unaided by his cape, and came crash down, rolling against the rooftop until he stopped at the edge. Pushing himself up, the vigilante froze as he saw masked criminal charging at him with long strides. He moved back in an effort to try and buy himself precious seconds to recover…

...and fell off the building.

Aw shit.

As air buffeted him, he quickly activated the glider cape, his descent slowing immediately even as gravity was pulling down on his lower half. Without thinking about, Tim flapped his arms down and unexpectedly rose up the air.

Whoa, hadn't expected that! What else was this thing capable of?

Then an idea occurred to him. Maybe he could use this. Whoever he was fighting, the guy really strong and looked like he was a competent fighter. So maybe long distance was what he needed to turn it around. And with the literal high ground...

Pulling out his grapple, he fired the hook up towards the rooftop he fell off and used it as a means to throw himself up, over, and high above the building that had been the fighting arena. He was ready, he was pumped, and he was determined to end this with a big fat victory.

And there was no one on the rooftop waiting for him.

Just that alone almost caused him to start plummeting to the ground again, but Tim caught himself in time to stay aloft. Where was? When…? What…?

Please do not tell him that the first crook he came across in this city had gotten away from him. Please tell him he was...he had gotten away. God. Damn. It.

And just when he had come up with a new strategy, that asshole!

Landing on the building's roof, the teen scowled. Looking this way and that and not finding anything or anyone, his mood further soured. Well this was great. Just perfect. What a way to really announce your return to being a vigilante once more. Just you wait, you son of a bitch, he was going to find you.

And when he did, he was so going to kick his ass!


For years, Victor had been warned about what to do and what not to do whenever a cop showed up. He had been warned that because of the color of his skin, he would be more likely to be met with hostility. A gun was more likely to be aimed at him than others with lighter hue skin.

There was no reason for it other than he was black. African American to be politically correct.

He had no idea on what he could put himself down as on a census form as of this minute because he highly doubted that African American could accurately describe his race at this point in his life.

None of that meant anything as the cop had pulled out his gun and ordered him to put his hands in the air. Now, this was Victor's first time having not only a cop yell at him but also having a gun pointed at him. In hindsight, he probably should have expected it. Lately, all the news seemed to report on were police shootings of minorities.

So here was the setup. He was standing in front of a diner, towering over this much smaller, almost a slip of a girl, and he was wearing a hoodie with the hood over his head. The only thing missing from this was a bag of Skittles.

Now, Victor had a couple concerns. For one, he had no idea if bullets were going to be any effective with him for...reasons. As far as he knew, knives were useless, but a small projectile traveling faster than the speed of sound? That, he had no clue about and did not want to find out about.

"I'm putting my hands up," he called out to the officer, one of his arms already reaching into the air. Unfortunately, his other hand was still in his hoodie pocket. When he had put it back in there, he couldn't remember—oh, wait, he was being reminded that he had done it unconsciously after he had run off those three guys. This new memory of his sucked with its bad timing.

"Put your hands up now!" the officer ordered again.

The girl whom he had valiantly come to the rescue to said and did nothing.

"There's nothing in my pocket!" he yelled to the police officer.

"Both of your hands! In the air!" the uniformed man shouted back. The gun the man held was steady, but the same could not be said of his fingers, specifically the one over the trigger.

"Don't shoot!" Victor pled back. "I am taking my hand out of my pocket."

"Hands in the air!"

Blowing air through his lips, the hoodie-wearing teen swallowed and slowly began tugging his hand out of the hoodie's front pocket. As the black-colored glove that encased his hand slipped from behind the cloth of the pocket, this was when the moment of truth would happen. Hopefully it would not be mistaken for another object that happened to be colored black.

The loud bang of gunfire dashed his hopes.

Immediately, he turned his head so that the left side faced the cop as more bullets were fired at him. By his count, and yes, he was keeping count, that was eight, no, make that nine shots fired at him. Seven of them hit him, six in his torso. The seventh got him in the side of his face. He felt no pain, just as he had with that knife earlier. As a hush fell over the area, Victor remained standing.

He did not fall to the ground.

With the hand he held in the air, he moved it towards the hoodie's hood and casually, he pushed it off. The officer fired another shot at him, probably terrified that he hadn't fallen to the ground like most people would. Well, he was about to give this guy a good reason to be terrified.

In the artificial light cast by the diner, the silver-colored metal that made up the left side of his head gleamed in the night. A red colored eye made of some tinted glass he knew not the name of glowed ominously and he tilted that part of his head towards the shocked cop. Even in this moment, he was not about to expose the rest of his very much fleshy head to this guy who had proven he was more than willing to shoot first and ask questions later.

Growling, he spat out, "You have anymore? Give me your best shot."

"I-I..." the officer stammered. "I...I need back up!" The uniformed man's voice raised in pitch, yelling into a radio receiver that was attached to his shoulder. "St-stay where you are! Don't you move!"

"I think it's a little too late for that," Victor stated as he lowered his raised arm. He crossed it over his chest with his other arm.

"Don't move! I mean it!"

Thanks to that red eye of his, he could see the fright he was inspiring in this country bumpkin. Wait, did they have bumpkins in the middle of a desert? Question for later, get back to the moment. With a thought, he could zoom in on the man's face, could detect all the facial features that expressed fear, and it was all saved into a file in his memory banks. All of this happened without him consciously doing so.

"You need to calm down."

Hmm, that wasn't his voice. And it felt like it was speaking to him and not him at the same time. Wait, that girl was still there. He had the capacity to save and record every little detail of his life, but he forgot that there was an innocent bystander only a few feet away, and shit, had she been hit by that cop's fire?

With his human eye, he searched for and found the girl who was now only a couple feet beside him. And she was invading his personal space too. What?

"Move away from that thing!" the cop yelled at her.

Maybe this was a sign that he had hadn't lost all of his nervous system, because Victor felt a chill run up his back. Slowly, the girl's head turned to face the cop. A whisper sliced through the air, followed by a yelp as the officer dropped his weapon, the gun clattering against the asphalt with a black glow.

Hold on a sec, how does something glow black?

"Backup…" the cop said in a whisper before shouting his lungs out, running for cover, "I need backup!"

"It would be best if we weren't here," the girl commented, speaking as if she was talking about the weather and not a future standoff with the police. The next thing Victor knew, the girl spoke some gibberish and the black, inky shadows rose around the two of them, blocking everything from sight.

"What the!" he cried out, unable to see anything beyond that black. What was happening? What was this girl doing?! Was he in any danger?!

And then the blackness fell, revealing nothing but desert all around, a simple road beside him and a sign that stated the speed limit. A starry sky stared down from above, almost picturesque. Everything was quiet now, and Victor had no idea of what to make of it.

"You're welcome," the girl stated.

Jerking, Victor directed both his human and red eye at this slip of a girl who showed no sign of being bothered at recent events. "What was that?" he exclaimed. "What happened?"

"That's a nice thank you there," the girl said wryly.

"This isn't making any sense!" the much taller male continued. "Wait, did you do that? How?!"

"Frankly, it's none of your business," the dark-haired girl replied. "I had thought that you might have wanted an escape out of the situation, and as thanks for your earlier, unneeded intervention, I have provided it. You are welcome."

Victor opened his mouth, but found no words coming out. Oh, c'mon, say something, anything!

"I trust that you haven't been injured in those altercations either, correct?" the girl inquired, sounding as disinterested as she someone could possibly be.

"...yeah, that's right," he ended up confirming. Which reminded him, his hoodie. Aw man, there were holes it, both from the stabbing and the bullets. Did people not know how hard it was for him to get one of these and in his size? Hold up, what's that? Digging through the pullover jacket, he removed a knife blade, the very one that had tried to pierce him. So that's what happened to it.

He tossed it away, not caring if he was littering.

"You're not bleeding," the girl commented, eyeing him. Glancing up at his face, she added, "I presume that there's more metal on you that what I see."

"Uh huh," he confirmed, then paused. Why was he answering her? He knew nothing of her! "What about you? Who are you?" A thought occurred to him. "And why was my help 'unneeded'?"

"I'm no one you need to know about. In fact, I would recommend we go our separate ways here," was the quick reply. She did not sound rushed, continuing to speak normally. Oh she was hiding something, but didn't sound like she was.

"I don't know, do you always attract that kind of attention?" he challenged back.

"No. That was one off," she answered, being straightforward. "Most people don't pay attention to me. With that said, farewell."

Victor blinked as this caped girl started walking down the road. Correction, it was a highway. The speed limit sign said so.

He should have let this weirdo go on her merry way and he his. Really, she was none of his concern. They knew almost nothing about each other. In fact, it would be better that way. Except, he had no idea where they were and which direction that truck stop had been. For all he knew, he'd be walking right back to it.

Odds were good that this girl was heading away from it, so, it stood to reason he should head that way too. They could split up later and forget the other existed.

"Hey, where you heading to?" he called out after her, taking large strides to catch up.

"Nowhere in particular. Why?" The tone of the girl's voice had shifted a bit, had a little edge to it.

"Funny, because I'm heading nowhere in particular too," he replied. "I don't know what you did back there or where we are now, but I bet that where you're heading right now is away from what went down back there. I don't know about you, but I'd like to avoid it."

"And how do you know I'm not going that way?" The girl raised an eyebrow at him as she spoke, tilting her head back to look up at him.

"Call it a...gut feeling," he trailed off lamely. "You don't seem like the type to go looking for trouble."

"So you say."

A moment of silence passed between them, Victor getting that awkward feeling again. This silence with whoever this girl was was not comfortable, at least for him. So, in the interest of having some kind of noise, other than their footsteps, he gave his name.

"I'm Victor."

The girl hmmed.

"You know, it's polite to give someone their name when they give you theirs."

"Who ever said I was polite?"

Though he didn't say it, that was touché.


It was a simple two-story house in one of the better neighbors in the city. The lights were off, the garage door closed, and no signs of activity within. The outside was a different story as a dark-clothed figure strolled up to the front door as if it owned the place.

Picking up a nearby potted plant, the figure removed a small key that was hidden underneath it, the key soon used to unlock the door and allow the person to enter. Closing the door behind them, the figure flipped on the nearest light switches and flooded the ground floor with light.

As a ski mask was pulled off, blonde hair tumbled around clothed shoulders. The long locks reached midway down the person's back, moving wispily as they moved further into the home. Blue eyes looked down irritably as a torn sleeve, scanning over the gauntlet that was very visible to anybody with eyes.

Great, she needed to find another shirt.

Her full name was Cassandra Sandsmark. She preferred Cassie because Cassandra was too long to spell out on school assignments. Plus it was way too formal for her tastes. When she wasn't out in the city doing some breaking and entering, she was an "average" high school student.

Yeah, that was in quotes. Because she was not an average student. She didn't like going to school. At all. It was boring as hell and the only reason she was still going was because a bleeding heart truant officer was snooping around too much. It was all about keeping the heat off her that she still went.

But when the final bell rang, she was one of the first out and back to the streets. Her obligations to society ended there and it was all about finding the next mark.

See, she was a girl that liked excitement. Who didn't? It just so happened that sneaking around in other people's homes, uninvited naturally, was what got her adrenaline pumping. She liked that feeling, maybe more than anybody she knew.

Besides, it wasn't like she was in any kind or too much danger. The gauntlet, or gauntlets, that she was wearing would see to anything that got in her way. What was the story behind those? None of anyone's business.

At least, it hadn't been until tonight. Who had been that guy? He comes out of nowhere, uses some kind of explosive, and refused to leave. A closer look at the guy showed that whatever outfit he was wearing, it wasn't some homemade crap that some people made for comic book and video game conventions. Something was really off about it.

Even more surprising, the guy had some moves on him. He knew how to throw a punch and how to dodge. That was more than what most people knew. Still, when she had got going, the fight had gone pretty much her way. Until her sleeve got ripped up somehow.

Whatever. This had to be a one off or something. Pure chance. She had been in some douchebag's place, permanently borrowing a small statuette that had caught her eye. There was no way he could have known she was hitting that place on this night at that time. Unless he was some stalker, which she doubted. Her gaydar was really going off before and during that fight.

Speaking of statuettes.

Taking a seat on a couch, she slipped off the small backpack she wore and unzipped it. Carefully, she pulled out the small, stone figurine of a woman in robes. Everything about it screamed Greek at her, and she always had had an interest and preference for Greek stuff. This was a goddess, had to be since the small woman had a helm on her head. Which one, though? Cassie could smell a Google search in her future.

This was a keeper. Another one to add to her collection. Then it was all about finding the next one. Call her a klepto, if you wanted, but there was more to this than borrowing from someone that could afford it. She had her reasons and they weren't anybody else's to know.

Still, who had been that guy? Was he new to the scene, another thief? Oh wait, maybe he was one of those wannabe superhero types. By looks alone, he looked better than most people and if memory served, he was better equipped for it than most.

You know what? Next time she went out, she'd bring more than just the gauntlets. If this guy, whoever he was, was planning to make a pest of himself, she'd be prepared for him.

Sure, last she saw him, he fell off a building, but her gut told her that it hadn't been fatal. Call it instinct. He probably had some kind of gadget that would get him out of the situation just fine.

Should he ever show his face again, she'd give him a very good reason to retire early.


By X'hal, luck was with her. The tide had indeed brought Koriand'r to land, and the glow she had spied out had been more than a steady source of light. It was a settlement. Even from where she stood, could see it easily.

She had to remind herself, though, that even with all this luck, she was on an unknown planet. She had no idea who had settled it, or what they were like. If past experience hinted correctly, the dominant species could be incredibly aggressive and hostile to other races. It was a question if they had ever had contact with an extraterrestrial race before. There was a reason why Gordanians, ever arrogant, became uncharacteristically cautious.

Running over to the settlement was therefore risky. Koriand'r could find herself in a situation that was as unfavorable as the one she had recently escaped from. There was no way to tell what reactions she could expect from the natives. She did not know what they looked like. Did they have scales? How many arms? The number of hearts they possessed. More importantly, what kind of weaponry did they have? Was it powerful enough to inflict bodily harm on her?

A growl in the lower region of her body protested against such caution. She had experienced so much physical exertion today, and was thus requesting sustenance to replenish her energy reserves. How could she ignore her bodily needs, especially if her aims were to continue existing?

Had this mysterious planet been her native Tamaran, her knowledge of various food sources would have been enough to allow her a solitary existence without drawing unwanted attention. This was not Tamaran, but a mysterious planet in which she knew not what the name of it was. She did not know what was edible, what was toxic, and knew not how to obtain such information.

There was potential danger all around her. Threats unseen that could end her currently miserable life.

She was not helpless, though. The alien girl's prowess in martial ability and manipulation of life energies provided her with adequate defensive capabilities. There was a chance that she could be a more formidable foe to any lifeform that encountered her.

Such beliefs were tempered by the memory of enslavement and torture she had endured.

A decision was needed. That much was certain.

Koriand'r was not ready to surrender. Not to her former enslavers. Not to biological functions. And not to fear and uncertainty. If she wished to continue living, she would have to take risks to ensure it. Until a haven could be found, she would need to be on guard. With no knowledge of the geographical surroundings around her, she would have to take her chances in the settlement.

With unsteady steps, the alien vagabond continued on her journey into the unknown.


Guest: I'm betting this answers the question of who Red Robin found.