I tried something pretty daring in this chapter: I'm giving Joey's POV on what it feels like to possess someone. Hopefully it won't turn out too horribly.

Joseph/Joey=Jericho

Anything in italics (in case it isn't clear) is thoughts.

A New Player Enters the Game

Jericho was feeling much better when he began to walk back to Titan's Tower. He still had no idea what, if anything, he was going to tell his teammates about his connection to Slade, but at least he knew now that he could deal with his father's actions, even if his friends could not.

He was around halfway home when a raspy voice called, "Turn around."

Slightly bemused, Joey turned to face the rough thug who was pointing a gun at a point somewhere in the vicinity of Jericho's right elbow.

Jericho's body shook slightly with silent laughter. Did this man have any idea who he was?

Apparently not; the man smirked. "Shaking with fear, are ya, pretty boy? I like the looks of ya. Come closer," he said, gesturing with his gun as his finger left the trigger. "Now, or I'll shoot."

Not intimidated in the least, Joey caught the man's eye and leapt into his body.

Instantly, everything changed as he began to look at the alley through another man's eyes.

It was always interesting to discover how different people saw the same world. A philosopher had once suggested the possibility that every person sees colors differently: What we call "red" may look to one man the way "blue" looks to another. Joey's unique experience had taught him that this was not true, but that didn't mean that everyone saw the world the same way.

Joey had possessed people who noticed almost nothing. It was a struggle to use their senses to take in anything about the outside world, and they were generally incapable of focusing on more than one thing at a time.

Joey's eyes, through a mixture of his nature and the training that had kept him alive in the business of superheroism, were trained to see everything, but only to process the information that was important or strange.

This man also noticed everything, and everything seemed to terrify him. Every shadow seemed through his eyes to be a police officer or a member of a rival gang. The white noise of the city—cars, televisions, footsteps, conversations—roared in his ears. Every voice or footstep was a bystander who might witness his crimes. Through the eyes of this man who had spent his life on the streets of Steel City, the world was a dark and dangerous place.

A loud curse word echoed through the confines of the thug's mind. "What happened to the pretty boy?" he wondered.

Jericho laughed. "I'm right here."

The man swore again. "What are ya doing in my head?"

"Language," Jericho chided. "I'm not legally an adult—we're the Teen Titans, after all—so you really shouldn't use such words in my presence."

"How did you get into my head? Get out of my head!"

"You're not a very intelligent criminal, are you? I realize that 'intelligent criminal' may be an oxymoron, but I would think that most would know better than to attempt an attack on the newest member of the local Teen Titans team. Since you seem not to have done your research, I'll introduce my self. I'm Jericho. If I make eye contact with a person, I can possess them. It's nice to meet you."

"Huh?"

"I'm sorry, should I use smaller words? You're not sesquipedaliopobic, are you" (1)

The only answer was a string of obscenities.

"What, no welcome? I'm new to the city, and I would appreciate some acknowledgement. You know, if I had some soap, I'd wash your mouth out. Since I don't…"

Jericho took control of the body, turned to the nearest wall, and began running toward it at full speed. He pulled out of the body at the last second, leaving his would-be attacker to run into a wall and knock himself unconscious.

Still laughing, Joey pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket—another necessity he never left home without—and fastened the man's hands behind his back around a sturdy pipe. He prepared to leave a signal for the police—and froze as some sixth sense warned him that he was being watched.

With a casual air designed to prevent his watcher from realizing that he had been discovered, Joey stood up and scanned the alley. He caught sight of a lock of jet-black hair before the person leapt back into the shadows and out of view.

Jericho pulled out his communicator and, praying that his teammates knew Morse Code, typed out da-da-da… "Someone is watching me. It's not Slade."

He closed the communicator, placed it back in his pocket, and stepped toward the shadow where he had seen whoever-it-was.

Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees as he was overcome with a debilitating terror the likes of which he had never before experienced.

1: Sesquipedaliopobic—the fear of long words. Yes, that really is a real word.

Well? Did it work? I just realized that this chapter has a ton of pointless development of a pointless character, but oh well.

And how do you like my cliffie?

Don't forget to review! (You were going to submit one anyway, right? I don't need to remind you to review, right? Especially those of you who subscribed to this story…)

Next: What's Jericho so afraid of? Who's watching him? Will his teammates ever find out about his father? See you next time for: Fear Itself.