Gidday, I'm back with another chapter, where the plot thickens. I had a lot of fun creating this next guy, hope you like him (or hate him). By the way, I updated my profile, so if you're one of those people who take a disturbing interest in their authors (just kidding), go take a look. This chapter is considerably longer than the others for a reason. Enjoy.
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Chapter 7: Interrogations
Frostbite had his head in his hands on the desk back at his hideout, breathing heavily. Despite appearances when facing the Titans and Deathstroke, he had been sapped of most of his energy in that colossal waste of time at the apartment. He was powerful (no use denying it), but he had limits. And that scrap could have been the end of him.
His quarry had gotten away and threatened repercussions. Those brats were now more than likely to redouble their efforts to thwart him. Worst of all, he had no idea on where to go from here. Deathstroke had been his meal ticket to his goal, and the Titans had robbed him of it.
Frostbite turned on the small television next to him that he had grabbed the other day. Since he couldn't just waltz into a store and buy things because of his appearance, he had to be sneaky and just steal it. He had no use for money. He was a survivor without peer in his honest opinion, and those survivor instincts had served him well throughout his whole, sorry existence. Ever since…
Frostbite's travel through memory lane was cut short by the news bulletin. He always watched the news religiously for anything, however small, that could come up. Frostbite watched the report on his battle with grave interest (however, the police officer amused him slightly). For most of the programme, he had little interest, and got changed into some spare clothes of the same style, and tinkered with the weapons he had salvaged from the battle. He had to admit, Deathstroke was quite ingenious. Smoke grenades, detpacks, extendable bo-staffs (one could even fire energy bolts) and other things that amazed him. How could all this stuff fit in such little pouches?
But then something caught his eye. A small anouncement concerning STAR Labs:
"STAR Labs has perfected an anti-freeze formula after months of frustrated efforts. The leader of the project, scientist Robert Walls, was instrumental to the success of the project. It is hoped that the new anti-freeze will not only be a stepping stone to make cold-related injuries such as frostbite a thing of the past, but will be mankind's first step toward advanced cryogenics and immortality."
Frostbite couldn't believe his luck. And the stupidity of Mr. Walls. That broadcast just advertised his presence just when Frostbite was in town.
Well, STAR Labs had better batten down the hatches. A blizzard was about to hit them like a ton of bricks.
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Down at the docks, a man in ragged, torn leather street clothes approached one of the many abandoned warehouses on the waterfront. He knocked on the back door, and waited a few seconds. A panel slid open at the top of the door, where two black eyes regarded him suspiciously.
"Password?" the eyes inquired.
"Vyacheslav Molotov." replied the man.
"State your business."
"I heard this was the place to get some decent weapons, and my pockets are lined with green."
The panel slid shut, and after some fumbling at the locks, the door swung open.
The man walked inside, and the door closed behind him. He looked with surprise at what he saw.
Weapons. Thousands of them. And not the ordinary junk you usually got on the streets like switchblades and Saturday Night Specials. M16 assault rifles lined the walls. Open crates were full of fragmentation grenades. There were even rocket launchers on the far side of the warehouse.
The place was definitely loaded. There were heavily armed guards everywhere that made the man uneasy. They were no street punks. These people wore black military fatigues with visored helmets and were armed with SMGs (Sub-Machine-Guns), M16s and Kalashnikov rifles.
The man was lead upstairs to the office, where there was even more heavy duty ordnance. At the very back was a desk with a man behind it flanked by two more guards armed with laser rifles. The ragged man couldn't see the man behind the desk very well because the lights were dimmed, but he assumed he was the arms dealer that everyone was talking about.
"Good evening, comrade." the dealer spoke out in a heavy robotic Russian accent, but there was more to his tone than that. The sentence seemed to have a double purpose, as if he wished the visitor anything but a good evening. That really creeped the man out, but he tried to maintain a tough look.
"Evenin'. I wanna buy a few guns for my homies, but I dunno what the best ones are. So I'd like your help…"
"You can drop the charade, you are not fooling anyone." interrupted the dealer harshly.
The man looked uncertainly at the shadow.
"What charade?"
The dealer reclined on his chair. "You are Special Agent Terence Day of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, you have a wife by the name of Elena Day, your child's name is Brandon Day, you live at number 45 Yew Cresent, your social security number is 23840045 and you have adopted this pathetic disguise to infiltrate my organisation and feed information to your superiors." He stated the facts emotionlessly, precisely.
Terence looked like a deer in the headlights. "How the hell did you know all this?" he demanded hoarsely.
"I have…connections." the dealer said simply. Terence knew he would never get a straight answer. He was in no position to demand anything; the guards were already forcing him to the floor.
The dealer looked at him thoughtfully. "Send him downstairs for processing. I will finish him later."
Terence attempted to break free, but one of the guards struck him viciously with the butt of the rifle, and dragged him off, bleeding in the side of the head.
The dealer turned to switch on the overhead television screen to watch the news concerning Frostbite. He had a personal interest in the cryomancer. After all, they were old friends. He chuckled at the feeble efforts by the police and these so-called Titans to contain him. He would soon show them all how it was done.
Then came the STAR Labs article. The dealer sat there in shock. That fool! That idiot was going to ruin everything! He got up and moved toward the door. If Frostbite got there first…
Walls was about to crumble.
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Robin poured over the computer, looking for anything that could help track down Slade. He knew Frostbite was a problem, but Slade always took top priority. He had threatened the team and the city more times than he could count. But Slade's parting words reverberated in his head:
" Another time, Titans. And you, Frostbite. I'll be watching you. Very closely."
Robin's only lead to Slade this time was through Frostbite. Problem was, he still didn't know Frostbite's frame of mind (was he psychotic?), his goals or motivations, so he didn't know where he would strike next. All he knew was that Frostbite held no regard for the lives of civilians and left a trail of destruction in his wake. That alone was enough to warrant his take down by the Teen Titans.
Starfire entered the room looking concerned.
"Friend Robin, you have been sitting at your desk for hours without having any of Cyborg's delicious spaghetti and meatballs. Perhaps you should…"
"I'm fine, I'm not hungry." Robin replied without letting Starfire finish.
Starfire wasn't going to take no for an answer this time. Brooding in his room for too long was just unhealthy. "You have made no progress in finding Slade or the Frostbite. Please take a break. You may have an idea while having dinner."
Robin reluctantly agreed. There was currently too little to go on.
Beast Boy was making gagging noises in the lounge as the rest of the Titans ate, which really put Raven off.
"If you cannot stand to watch us eat real food, eat somewhere else." Raven snapped.
"No way, I'm watching TV." Beast Boy retorted.
"You are not watching TV. You are flicking through channels aimlessly and sounding as if you'll upchuck at any moment."
"Come on, man, can you go just five seconds without complaining about my cooking?" Cyborg said exasperatedly.
"Never! Do you know how many cows were slaughtered to make those meatballs?"
"Only one!"
"One is one too many! It's genocide I tell ya!"
"Genocide is the killing of a group of people, not animals!"
"Herbicide then. The killing of herbivores."
"That's the killing of plants!"
The argument could have continued pointlessly for hours but Raven decided to put an end to it. She telepathically lifted up their respective dinner plates, and shoved them in their faces.
"Just chew, swallow, and shut up." growled Raven.
Cyborg and Beast Boy gulped and nodded, their faces covered in meat sauce and tofu.
Suddenly, the alarm went off and the whole tower flashed red. Robin sprinted to the computer and checked it out.
"There's been a break in at STAR Labs. Titans, GO!"
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STAR Labs. The Scientific and Technological Advanced Research Laboratories. One of the world's leading research institutes. Founded by Garrison Slate, the chain of laboratories spread throughout the United States and the world was completely independent of any government or corporate interest that could corrupt the organisation to fulfill another groups agendas.
At least ideally. Although many in the organisation took great pains to ensure it never happened, nothing was ever perfect. Take the Chicago branch for example.
Robert Walls was still running through a few last minute tests on the anti-freeze at the West Jump City branch. He was excited about this miracle chemical, and not just for its obvious potential in medicine and Arctic survival. But he was less keen on telling how he had come up with it. He didn't want to go down that path again. But the thing about the past is that it often catches up with you.
Suddenly, the whole wall to his left self-destructed, sending Walls flying and shattering various vials filled with different chemical formulas, some beginning to eat through the metal floor. The alarms sounded and broke the still calm of the night.
Walls looked up to meet someone he had hoped to never see again.
"Hello, Walls. I'd like to have a word with you." Frostbite hissed coldly, grabbing Walls by the front of the lab coat and slamming him onto the table that gave way under the force.
"Frostbite! Oh, hell!"
"You should have been more cautious, Walls. But then again, you always were a greedy little pig. The value of that anti-freeze must be worth what? Millions? Tens of millions? Billions, perhaps?"
Walls was shaking. "Oh, hell! Holy, sweet mother of…"
"Language, Walls. You were always a foul mouthed swine as well." Frostbite paused, then bent down over the terrified scientist.
"You know exactly what I'm after. Tell me where my personal files are, and I won't make your head explode from flash-freezing."
Walls shook his head fervently. "I can't do that! They'll kill me!"
"I'll do it right now if you don't spill!"
Frostbite covered his hands in ice and punched a hole in the floor next to Walls' head to prove his point. The ice splinters scraped at his cheeks, making him cry out in pain.
"I'll talk!"
"Spit it out!"
"The files are at an abandoned warehouse on the docks of the city. It's now a base for the organisation. The files will be in the central computer. But it's armed to the teeth!"
"You had better be right about this. Just give me the directions."
"S…sure, it's to the southeast off the main motorway. You can't miss it."
"Thank you. That's all I needed to know."
Frostbite then pinned him to the wall and proceeded to freeze his feet and hands to the wall while Walls screamed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU SAID YOU'D LET ME LIVE!"
"I am going to let you live. But first, I want to make an example of you."
"Let him go!"
Frostbite could recognise that self-righteous, angsty voice anywhere. He turned around to face Robin and the rest of the Titans, ready for another fight.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Breakfast Club." Frostbite said calmly.
"We're nothing like the Breakfast Club." Beast Boy argued.
"Sure you are. There's the Brain," he pointed at Robin, "the Athlete," pointing at Cyborg, "the Princess," pointing at Starfire, "the Criminal," pointing at Beast Boy, "and the Basketcase!"
"I'm the WHAT!?" spluttered Raven, eyes glowing a furious white.
"Dude, how am I a criminal?" protested Beast Boy.
"Probably referring to your sense of humour." chuckled Cyborg.
"HEY!"
"Titans, focus!" Robin snapped, "We can't let him get…"
Robin turned around to find that Frostbite had disappeared.
"…away."
The sound of a motorbike broke out into the night. The teens all rushed outside to see the rapidly retreating figure of Frostbite fading into the darkness.
"Sooo, is there a Plan B?" asked Beast Boy.
"Yeah. We know where he's going, so we'll have to follow him there. Cyborg, get the T-Car. Starfire, free the scientist. One way or another, this ends tonight!"
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After the Titans had left, Walls slid down into a sitting position on the floor. He wanted nothing more to do with Frostbite, or anti-freeze, or anything ever again. He was now determined to run away and start a new life under a new name. All things considered, it could have been worse.
"Good evening, Robert Walls." said a mechanical, Russian voice, sounding like the harbringer of death in the darkness.
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"Everybody, run! Seriously evil bad guy coming through!" called out Frostbite sarcastically to the soldiers at the warehouse. They fired at him of course, but they never really stood much of a chance against his ice beams, even with their machine guns. Frostbite's speed and reflexes far exceeded theirs.
After about ten minutes of fighting, the last soldier slid down against the hangar door, knocked unconscious by a thunderous punch to the head. Frostbite wasted no time in ripping down the door and advancing inside.
Walls hadn't been lying. There was enough weaponry here to start World Wars Three to Five. He would be sure to trash it afterwards. A few remaining goons armed with lasers tried to stop him from getting into the office, but all in vain. They were duly disarmed and frozen to the floor.
Once inside the office, Frostbite felt uneasy. And not just because of the Soviet flag hanging across the wall. It was almost as if he was being watched.
He made his way to the computer and started hacking. A skill he was getting very good at. To his disturbance, the codes were all in Russian. There was only one person that he knew that used Russian in encryption…
He quickly managed to break through the system's security and found what he was looking for. Learning Russian had turned out to be a good thing after all. Now was the moment of truth. Ever since he had emerged as Frostbite, much of his life before his transformation had been wiped clean, with only fragments remaining in his memory. But the monsters that had created him had saved some of his personal information in case it was needed to understand every little thing he did. He was after all, an experiment that had needed close tabs.
He downloaded the information onto a disk and put it into a case for safekeeping. As much as he wanted to look through it now, it wasn't safe here. He got up and prepared to leave…
"You aren't going anywhere." said a cold, calculated voice.
Frostbite turned around and was greeted with a fist to the face that sent him crashing into the computer, sparks flying. He got up and saw…
"Deathstroke."
"Hello, Frostbite. I'm here to even the score. Is this a bad time?"
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Sorry about the lack of detail in the fights, but I wanted to get through this. I'm promising the next chapter will be far more intense and interesting. Please give me some reviews, I'll be eternally grateful.
