Jump City Jump

by P0ST

One City, six Titans, and their wildcard. Act One: Deuce-to-Seven. ...The Third Birth...

10. Suites part 1

(Several Weeks Ago...)

Cyborg's right eye twitched, a mahogany iris encompassed by a bright blue reflection as he ducked low and slid across the laboratory floor. The room tingled with a deathly static as the bolts of electricity surged closer and closer to his dodging figure—exploding various gas tanks behind him and setting the subterranean interior ablaze. The cybernetic CEO of Stone Industries somersaulted past another electric blast and balanced himself against a wall as he switched his right arm into a sonic cannon and aimed in the direction of the maniacal zappage.

The cacophony around him shrunk down to a low hum as he swallowed the decibels from his side of the corridor and launched them all—screaming—down the far side and towards his opponent. The metal tiles and shingles of the place warped and billowed in a straight line on the heels of his sonic outburst—but his enemy was out of sight, billowing away in a bright silver gasp.

Victor panted, panted, glanced every which way—Then gasped at a frothing aura of hot whiteness to his flank-

But just as the elecrical tendrils were nearly upon him, a lithe figure clad in white body armor flipped over him, landed in a slide, and flung her forearms up—bulbous black spheres on the gauntlets screaming with a high pitched fury.

A hole was blown in the roof of the corridor beside them, and the source of the electrical monstrosity was thrown senselessly through it—lost among the debris.

The armored figured vaulted up to her feet—wobbled slightly—but was held in place by Cyborg's strong shoulder.

"I owe you one, Chime!"

"You merely owe me a chocolate sundae once we're through with this!" 'Chime' murmured back, swallowing and peering her visor-less helmet around. "Where's Ludster gone to-?"

"Can't you sense him with that tech of yours?"

"No more than you can, Vic! He's pure electrical energy now! I can only track the burning oxygen he's displaced!"

"Great... ... ...knee deep in the belly of the Earth and we gotta fight thunder with thunder!" The titanium teenager exclaimed, dodging falling debris as the laboratory shook all around them. "And please—call me 'Cyborg' while we both happen to be in butt kicking mode!"

"Have you heard from Robin yet?" Chime remarked as the two jogged down the corridor in the direction of the crumbling mess. "Wasn't he supposed to give us a progress report?"

"If there's anything I've learned about that mofo—it's to let him be his own mofo, not ask for an update-!"

"Aren't you worried?"

"Believe me, Chime..." Cyborg exclaimed in mid-jog. "Worrying is half of it all."

"And the other half?"

"... ... ..."

"Victor?"

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(April 23, 2005...Today)

Cyborg blinked.

"...Victor?" Madeline craned her ear and pivoted, 'scanning' the room with her good senses. She held the neck of a cello in her feminine hands, the bow dangling fearlessly from a pair of porcelain fingers. "Did you bail on me again? Don't make me put a bell on you..."

"... ... ..." Cyborg took a deep breath. A flicker to his red eye, and he saw his close friend in two shades. "Naw, girl...I ain't gonna bail on you." He reached a hand over and gently nudged her chin with his big metal thumb. "Not tonight..."

"... ..." Madeline smiled proudly, her milky white almond eyes curved, matching the ivory silk of her long satin dress. A couple of breaths—and a wave of noise from a few yards away shook her back to the moment at hand, her with her musical instruments, standing sidestage to the heated aura of a spotlight—drowning upon the precipice of over one thousand rich Jump City citizens in attendance—applauding as the Vaughan Concert Hall's appointed host ran verbally over a list of accolades, and all of them in Madeline Kobayashi's name—piercing her gently with softly stabbing needles of corny embarassment. "This...erm... ..." Madeline sighed long and hard. "... ...You do realize I only do this sort of thing to make my dad happy...?"

"He can be quite convincing, can he?"

Madeline smiled. She tilted her head Cyborg's way and straightened a loose strand of black hair as she uttered: "So you mean to tell me that the entire time you two talked, he was pitching you some sort of partnership?"

"I can't quite put into a single sentence exactly what it is he 'pitched' to me..." Cyborg glanced around the two of them like a sentry, eyeing the dozens of stagehands, tech crews, Kobayashi Corp security personnel, and a press agent or two—flashing photography in their direction with a brightness lost unto Madeline, and unto himself for that matter. "... ...but lemme just say that your old man has an awful lot of respect for this City."

"Well, what did you expect? I've always agreed that my father can be a little stiff—But he's no dictator."

"Unless he expects to become mayor, blow up the public library, and erect a replica of Himeji Castle in its place."

"Vic..." She nearly hit him with the bow.

He shrugged the threat off his shoulder like raindrops. "No seriously, Maddie. I thought I was gonna have my skull turned into a metal sushi bowl. Turns out I had little to be scared of. Your father's the most sensible, righteous-minded adult I've talked to in ages. And that's saying a lot about him and so little about Jump City in one breath."

"And yet, as a favor, he didn't ask you to do the do-rag."

"Snkkkt—NO. No do-rag this time."

"Instead he has you babysitting me..."

"Maddie..." Victor sighed and tilted his head in her direction. "It's only for one night. And this ain't no babysitting—it's a genuine, one of a kind, grade-a superhero stake out—With you in the spotlight."

"I'm not so keen on the last part."

"It's an unavoidable part. You say you're showing off your talents tonight for your dad? Well—my team and I are accompanying you on behalf of your dad. But I ain't complaining. Not only is it the best job I could possibly be doing in the whole wide world..." He smiled, teeth practically humming—perhaps she could 'hear'. "... ...but I'd be here anyways. I'd pay my own weight in Dr. Pepper to be having a backstage pass like I've got right here. Nao that's a lot of kidney stones!"

Madeline purred: "Has anyone ever told you that your voice inflects like Denzel Washington when you're full of-"

"Snkkt—Cyborg. Is there any update?"

Cyborg groaned and raised his forearm communicator to his lips. "No, Star Spangled Kid. Everything's going as smoothely as it was when you last asked ten minutes ago."

"S-Sorry! I was only meaning to check up. Green Lantern always said-"

"And this ain't the JSA, Stargirl! We're a small team—but still a competent one! Just hold your ground, keep your eyes peeled—And if you see something come up—then you alert the rest of us. Got it?"

"Errm...Y-Yes Vic—I-I-I mean Cyborg. S-Sorry. Over and out. Snkkt."

Cyborg lowered his arm while Madeline's voice drifted towards him. "I thought you were trying to ease up on them as of late..."

"What gave you that idea?"

Madeline 'looked' at him.

The half-man behind the half-metal sighed. "It's been a very stressful couple of days, Maddie. Surely you don't need me to remind you...Again."

"You're not the only one stressed, Victor."

"Hell, Girl, don't I know it? I mean—With all the crap I put your father through on Fifth Street, I'm surprised you're even still talking to me! The fact that you haven't bitten my head off over the past seventy-two hours is a testimony to the Spirit of Oprah itself-"

"Vic..." She balanced the cello against her chest and pressed her fingers into his arm. "...I wasn't talking about myself. I am fine." She nodded her head towards the darklit rafters of the sidestage concert hall overhead. "Your friends—stationed all around us—they've been through the rinse cycle with you as well. They too are stressed."

"Right, but-"

"When you're stressed, Victor, at least you get the advantage of seeing the horizon while your hands are at the helm of your dream team. But your partners? They look up to you because they have to. They can't always see what you see...or hear what you hear..."

"I'm not perfect, Madeline. But I like to think I'm at least a good coach. You should have heard me last night after I met with your old man." Victor smirked into her attentive face. "I told them I had upmost confidence that they could pull tonight's mission off. I went over the guard posts with each of them, outlying their strengths and contributions to the-"

"Instilling hope is not all about the mission, Victor. Don't you think it's about the life itself? About what they must do to enrich themselves between exercises?"

"... ... ...I-I don't understand, Madeline..." Cyborg squinted at her quizzically. "What am I doing wrong? I went to bat for them all with Kobayashi. I've been with them every step of the way in training. How can I show them more than I already have that they have everything to be confident about?"

"Faith is not all in the 'showing', Victor." Her milky white eyes peered past him as she craned her neck to the side. "But mostly it's in the feeling... ...and sharing that feeling."

"... ... ...if that's the case, Madeline..." Victor murmured, lost in his own shadow ever so briefly. "... ...then I'm probably not the team leader everyone thinks I should be..."

"You were once..." She smiled and gripped his arm once more. "Because you shared that feeling once before. You shared it with me..."

Cyborg sighed, his human eye shut. "Madeline..." He half-groaned. "That one night—when you and I and Robin stomped mudholes into some pretty nasty peops—that was a fantastic night, but it should never have happened. I should never have let you-"

"But the fact is you did, Victor." Madeline remarked. "You did let me—Because you shared with me a confidence that surpassed the absurdity of the situation."

"Mmngh...you could have gotten killed. It was foolish-"

"No, it was faith." She said. "And that's something your team needs more from you than a smoking gun to this 'Underworld', or a handshake with my father."

"... ... ... ... ..."

"Ms. Kobayashi?" A stage hand with an earpiece wandered up, hoarsely uttering: "It's Wally. Kathy sent me. You're on in two."

"Mmm...Thank you, Wally."

"Ma'am..." The stagehand rushed off, clipboard in grasp.

In the silent cloud that followed, Madeline took a few lasting moments to straighten her hair, dress, satin sleeves—fiddling with her cello and shaking off the last few rivulets of teenage nervousness that broke the surface of her usually tranquil exterior-

"Knock it off."

"... ... ...I beg your pardon?" She tilted her ear Cyborg's way.

"I said knock it off, girl. You're gorgeous." He sighed. "You're always gorgeous. Just go out there and drop them dead."

She smirked knowingly. "There's no point in flattering someone who's already right."

"Would you like to lead my band of superheroes for a week? Be my guest. I promise you that after one day of Garfield's mania and Raven's Weakest Link-isms, you'll be pulling an Oedipus on your ears."

"Hmmm-hmmm-hmmm..." Madeline chuckled under her breath. "Victor... ...I have every bit of confidence in your team. I just wished that the importance of the matter doesn't make you feel like you have to drag yourself through the dirt—or your friends, for that matter."

"Maddie-"

"Because they are your friends at this point, are they not?"

"It's still too early for all that."

"Why so, Victor?"

He gazed into a shadowy cloud beyond her ivory visage. "Because it just is. Half of my life is a dismantled pile of lost things... ... ...as if my father was dredging through the infernal cogwheels dropped off in limbo when he made me. Hell, I'm not sure if that makes a dayum lick of sense—But all I know is, my life has only half begun. I'm not sure what the new half will bring, but the only sense of friendship I feel at all—is from the old half." He tilted his face till his voice firmly fell upon her. "And that's where you belong..."

"As proud as I am to mean that much to you, Victor..." She reached forward across the darkness and cupped his cheek. Her next breath came in a whisper—like the hush before a symphony. A ringing before a bell: "You and I both know that there's someone far more special from your 'old half'..."

"... ... ..." Cyborg's face gently deflated. But he couldn't summon the strength to deny that.

Then, from the sidelines—suddenly booming: "...I am nao pleased to introduce to you, performing a marvelous rendition of Johann Sebastian Bach's Six Suites for Unaccompanied Cello, our local mayoral candidate's own daughter and young philanthropist—Madeline Kobayashi."

A roar of applause. The host on stage turned, clapping, as a fancily dressed assistant sashayed up and gently grasped Madeline's shoulder.

The billionaire princess grinned at Cyborg. "Well, Vic...Time to see stars!" An even more cheekish grin, and she drifted back—her fingers trailing off his cheek, as she gracefully sauntered onto stage—cello and bow in toe.

Cyborg smiled deeply, rubbing his own cheek and murmuring into the cacophony of praise that haloed her: "Send their hearts ringing, girl..."

Three spotlights converged hotly as one—shimmering off of Madeline's elegant dress as the assistant helped her find the lone mahogany chair in the center of the stage. She sat down with the cello perched before her, silent as a bird of prey...but demure as a swan.

In the audience that filled every contour of the Vaughan Concert Hall, faces from all walks of wealth formed a crescent moon of sophisticated breathlessness. Local city officials, corporate businessmen and women, millionheirs, fortune donators, and politicians of every angle smiled—waiting patiently—for the performance to follow.

They did not have to tarry long. With a lift of the bow and a perch of the opposite hand's fingers upon the top of the instrument, Madeline began the trademark introduction into Bach's masterpiece in G Major.

The First Suite.

Cyborg watched from the sidelines—a vigilant guardian and a proud friend all the same. With each lilting repetition of the deep strings, he felt a warmth rising within him—a shadow of the joy, he assumed, must have wafted through a certain Kobayashi-san's heart daily, so that he froze to ponder...in the midst of the joyous moment...the possiblity that he himself may almost have brought about an end to that, eliminating a contract before it was ever purposed to begin.

But Victor wasn't thinking about himself and Robin and Madeline several weeks ago. He wasn't thinking about Stone Industries or the great Purge. He wasn't thinking about a trip to Canada or a day of endless snow. His human eye rested on Madeline's cello playing figure while the robot one searched beyond, behind, beholding...

Two halves, searching...

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(January 05, 2004)

It was a football game, under the fall of a fresh evening's dark curtain. Floodlights flanking the yards, bleaches, and benches glowed white, brightly accompanying the cheering, raving droves that comprised the lively high school crowd. A tv news crew set up a platform halfway down the field, erecting a camera just in time for the national anthem and ensuing kickoff. As the home team caught the pigskin and rushed towards the opposite end of the field, the air roared with a jubilant, youthful thunder that rivaled the crashing tackles to come.

But he wasn't focusing on the game. He wasn't eyeing the line of scrimmage or the moves of the quarterback. He wasn't even oogling the cheerleaders or glancing at the high school band. His vision centered on a group of close friends in the third stand of the bleachers on the opposite side of the field, specifically on a tall, auburn-haired girl just half-a-year younger than him. She pointed towards a play, giggled with her friend, and let loose an arm-waving cheer of euphoria before sitting back down and chatting a storm with another companion next to her.

Bleeeep-Bleep-Bleep-Bleep! A bright, square-shaped reticule centered around her torso, blinked, and then narrowed even further on a tiny spot of her left chest. Another diagram lit up towards the right of his vision and produced a staticky electrocardiogram: pulsing... pulsing... pulsing... pulsing. Bleep! Text appeared—('Identity Match Found')—and then produced a tiny window complete with a stock yearbook photo and a miniature bio. 'Sarah Simms. Age Seventeen. Female.'

But he didn't need to read the bio. He blinked his human eye forcibly. Bzzzzt! The reticules disappeared, and the sight of her flew far away as the meter on the bottom right of his vision read: "Magnification 15x... 10x... 5x... 2x... 1x...". She was lost once more amidst the crowd of euphoria, punctuated intermittently by tackles, whistles, and trumpets.

He sighed, leaning against the side wall of the sports concession stand several hundred feet away from the thickness of it all. His faces—the metal one and the flesh one—hid under the shadow of a thick jacket's hood, as his hands were also hidden in his pockets, as his voice was hidden deep inside a dead coffin of metal.

Until...

"Her heart still sounds like a song." His voice was wilted, dull, like he was purposefully botching a poem. Still, a dim red light flickered under his hood as he stared towards the general aura surrounding her, far away, and far more alive—And he turned his head away from the entire scene in a shy shrug of resignation, and a shuffling of heavy boots towards the fringes of Jump City High.

He had barely made it twenty paces when a deep voice under a haze of smoke and exhaustion hailed him from behind. "Victor. Hold it right there."

Cyborg stopped, sighed with a rolling of his one human eye, and stared down into the concrete. "Why do I get the feeling you've been trailing me every day for the past six months...?"

A tall man in his late forties, sparsely shaven, and clad in a white dress shirt with dark slacks shuffled up from where an unmarked police car was parked in front of the Jump City High media center. His loose tie fluttered in the wind as he took another puff from his cigarette, flicked ashes into the wind, and exhaled his years out against the current. His expression was tyred, unenthusiastic, yet ever so faintly laced with concern.

"I only stalk because I care..." The man muttered. "...or I suspect someone of harboring illegal substances. And both you and I know, Vic, it sure as Hell ain't the latter. Unless, of course, you've been getting high off of Mexican Duracels since the last time we chatted." He slapped the jacketed shoulder of the teen and motioned down the sidewalk with his scruffy neck. "Come on. Let's talk."

"About what, Decker? I'm not in the mood—"

"Right...Right..." Detective Decker glanced at his watch, took another puff of the cancer stick and wheezed forth: "You're a tough lil shit. You ain't in the mood to talk, ain't in the mood to walk, ain't in the mood to friggin' live. I was there before, ya know; teenaged and full of shit, just like you. That's right, you heard me. Being turned into a half-metal automaton doesn't excuse you from having a stick up your ass. I should know, I've had one up mine for decades nao. Uh uh, you ain't getting away Vic. We need to talk, and we need to talk nao."

"Or else what? You'd throw me in jail?" The young man frowned and tried to walk away. "Give it up, Decker. You ain't my dad."

"Funny thing, that..." Detective Decker from the Jump City Police Department pointed, caught up with the brisk pace of the youngster, and murmured forth in a nicotine'd breath. "...cuz you haven't talked to your dad in months, I hear. Nor have you talked to your Uncle Simon, or your grandparents. And then, this morning, I get a phone call that chills me to my bones, and I can't help but realize something—You haven't talked to me in nearly as long a time."

"Just because you and my dad worked for years together during the formation of the Metahuman Defense Department doesn't make you my godfather or some crap." Victor grunted. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because the phone call I got this morning told me that—very soon—you just may become alone permanently, kid." Decker outstepped Victor, stood in front of him to stop the teen, and dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk. "Silas is in Jump City Medical." He grinded the cancer stick out with his boot. "Your father's dying."

Victor's eyes were both cold. "I know."

Decker stared up at him, head leaning to the side. "How'd I figure you did?"

"Because you've worked in this City long enough to know a lost cause when you see one." The teenager droned. "For once in your illustrious career, drop it."

The detective exhaled through frowning nostrils. "Kid. You wound me."

"Yeah. Cry me a river." Cyborg marched past him—

YANK!

"The Hell—?" Cyborg gasped as an iron grip yanked him down to the asphalt by his jacket hoodie.CLANKKK! He winced, his metal and flesh skull exposed to the apathetic stars. He glanced up and hissed through gritted teeth: "You jerk! What gives? This is harassment!"

"Save me the shitty rhetoric, Vic." Decker frowned and knelt with the full weight of his body pressing through his hand held against the teenager's iron chest. "Nao you listen to me and you listen good. I've worked with your father all of your pathetic, angst-filled life. And yes, he's made mistakes—A hell of a lot of them. But no matter how much metal you've got under your skin or ice in your veins, he is still your old man. And I'll be damned if you let this night pass by just like any other."

"Then be damned." Cyborg gripped Decker's arm and effortlessly shoved the man's weight off him with a single flick of his titanium limbs. He sat up, frowning. "You ain't got a clue, detective. You're just taking that selfish old fool's side. You have no idea what he's done to me, what he's always done to me. Ever woken up in the morning and have to take a crap out of a rusted tube in your arm? Ever had your fellow officers stop you in the middle of the street with guns and tasers cuz they think you're some goddamn robot from outer space? Would you like to trade those smoke-stained lungs of yours for a cylindrical array of oxygenated filtration systems that need to be replaced every twenty-two days? You and I don't share a dayum thing, so don't go defending him in his last pathetic minutes of life. He can spend them alone, for all I care."

"You think I'm defending him? Kid, it's you I'm concerned about."

"HAH!" Cyborg stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off. "That's a laugh. Looks like your sense of humor is about as sharp as your dress code these days, detective—"

"Shut up for a damn second and hear me out." Decker frowned. He paced over towards a bug-flitter'd street lamp and readjusted his tie. "Did I have a dad who turned me into a walking toaster? Hell no. But sometimes I wish I did. It would have made it a lot easier to get back up when he smacked me around every other night."

Victor bit his lip.

Decker went on: "Yeah, pretty dayum sure you remember those stories from Silas' company dinners. He was a real hero, my dad. He saved dozens of fellow soldiers from an enemy ambush and single-handedly defended a hill from Charley. When he got home, they all but gave him a parade down Main Street. My mother was there for his decoration, and the newspaper photos made us look like the 'All American Family'. Well, kid, I don't need to tell you that the truth is always a whole lot shittier than what popular opinion paints it. My old man shot up people to Hell in 'Nam and found that playing boxing with me in a drunken fit nearly chased the memories away. Little did he know that it'd spawn a whole fresh pile of stinkin' regret. One day—when I was a little younger than you are nao—he brought some hooker home and had the gall to tell my mother to leave the bedroom, their bedroom, so they could play naked tango. So, I took all of my young years of bruises and anger and finally told him how I felt to his cowardly, drunken, red-nosed face. He broke my arm and shattered a bottle over my head."

Victor was silent, kicking uncomfortably at patches of dust on the sidewalk while Detective Decker continued...

"So I left that very night and didn't talk to him for eleven years," the detective said. "I went into law enforcement almost as a way to scare him, to show that if worse came to worse and he threatened my mom again, I'd have every resource to permanently ground him...but behind bars, like he deserved to be. You see, Vic, I spent the better part of my days—invested the greater portion of my career—entirely in the task of hurting that pathetic excuse of a man who spawned me. And when I turned thirty, it finally happened. He croaked—drowning in his own liquids with a battered liver, surrounded by nurses that could barely speak English, much less understand his last-second anguished ramblings. And, no: I didn't give a shit. Like you, I was more than happy to let him suffer on his own, especially when the letters came from Mom, begging that I go see him, to which I refused."

Decker took a breath, whipped out his carton of cigarettes, and slapped it a few times before sliding out another stick. "For years, I couldn't have cared less that my father was deader than a doornail." He lit the cigarette, took a puff, and exhaled. "...and then I got divorced, and got separated from my own kid."

Victor glanced up, rubbing the human part of his head. Silent. Listening.

"Heh...My very own kid...," Decker held the cigarette and gazed at his shoes. "...beautiful, angelic Melissa. Sings like a nightingale, dances like a princess, gets a red ribbon for her third grade science projects..." Another puff. Then a deep, mumble of a voice. "Or so I'm told. Cuz this hard-edged detective was always too dayum busy trying to whip the streets of Jump City into shape to ever bother spending a single second with her. And nao my darling little Melissa—whom I'll never stop loving so long as I live and painfully breathe—hates me more than any of the crooks and rapists I throw into jail on a nightly basis. I could metamorphosize overnight from a radioactive explosion, turn into Superman, and drag Pluto down for her to go ice skating on; and still she'll hate my guts. And there's nothing I can do to ever stop that—Nor could expect to, cuz I deserve every bit of her hate." Another puff. Another smokestream. "Just like my old man did."

Victor sighed and shut his eyes. "Get to the point already—"

"The point—" Decker glared. "...is that the longer I live, and the more I realize the cost of love, everything I've ever worked for in steeling myself against the pain of yesteryear has seeped through that iron curtain to poison the shit out of me, more than my favorite habit. And everyday that this old man..." He pointed at his chest. "...goes to his job to do the 'right thing', I'm reminded that it all started cuz I wanted to alienate myself from a man who made mistakes—maybe worse mistakes than I've made, thank God—but stupid ones none of the same. My old man must have realized that the only person that could give him peace in his last agonized hours of existence hated his friggin' guts, and that's a torture worse than Hell, kid. And I know—cuz, at this rate, I'm headed to that same shitty fate. And it sucks not being able to do a thing about it, especially when deep down in your so-called heart you know that you deserve it."

"Sad story, Decker." Victor said. His red eye flickered. "But that may be true for you, and it may be true for your old man...But it ain't true for me."

"You so sure about that, Vic? I mean, absolutely sure?"

"...Yes."

"You'd better dayum well be sure." Decker pointed with the cigarette. "It's been a long time since I attended that cybernetic evaluation at Phaser Labs. Remind me—Exactly how long did that scientist 'Ray' dude say you were estimated to live?"

Victor shifted nervously. He dug his hands into his jacket pocket.

"…How long, Vic?"

Victor sighed. He muttered: "Three hundred years...On one battery source."

"On one battery source?" Decker leaned forward with emphasis. "So you mean you could live twice as long? Three times as long? Perhaps even a millennium if we're all still ticking and smart enough to improve on that robotic heart of yours?"

"I doubt I'll live that long."

"Bullshit. You're superhuman, Vic. Those are the cards fate has dealt you. And if I was in your position—which I'm not—I'd be damn sure that I could learn to live with any kind of regret that came my way. Cuz that's a hell of a long time to be living with it...A helluva lotta Hell."

Victor snickered. "Is this whole speech supposed to 'make me a better son' or some crap? You've never been one to lecture me before, detective. What are you really here for?" He looked at the middle aged man. "My dad's about to croak, and you're worried about what's to become of his legacy, aren't you? His tech, his resources, the Tower he's been planning to build..." Victor smiled bitterly. "All of that goes to me as soon as he passes away. What's the matter, detective? Does that throw Commissioner Kneehouse's precious 'Metahuman Defense Department' into disarray?"

Decker took a long drag of his cigarette, never taking his eyes off of Vic's. He said: "I'm not the first volunteer to lend that feminine cement truck a hand, but, I'd be lying if I didn't say that the thought had occurred to me."

"You're a hollow, desperate, friendless punk, ya know that, Decker?" Victor frowned. "The reason your daughter hates your guts is that you never take your eyes off the 'big picture'. Just like Silas Stone, you're business first, family second."

"Funny..." Decker murmured. "I always thought I was in the 'business' of 'saving families'." He motioned with his head towards the roar of the football game behind them. "...and friends."

"..." Victor glanced towards the glow of the floodlamps. He said nothing.

"If there's one thing you and I have in common, Victor, it's that we both love this City. Nnrgh...God help us. We were born here. By career or by accident, we were both 're-born' here. I'd hate to see it go to ruin. And as much as your old man may have screwed up in the home, he sure as heck was priceless for wanting to carry this dayum place on his shoulders. Nao it's a crumbling mess—just like his tumorous body. And when he's gone, this City could very well die alongside him. And I hate to see three things go the way of the dinosaur."

Victor blinked curiously. "Three?"

Decker nodded. "Silas. Jump City. And you." He narrowed his eyes. "I might be obsessed with the big picture, Vic, but with whatever years I have left on this world, I hope to fix my mistakes. I'm not going to let any agenda interfere with your future or whatever you decide to do with the Stone Industries. But if you love this City nearly as much as I do, you're not going to let it crumble to pieces. You can punish your dad for all the shit you've gone through—punish me too for all I care, but I seriously doubt you could go as far as to let this place go to Hell. If you could, then you're a lot worse off than I previously feared." He flicked his final cigarette and marched off. "Nao if you'll excuse me, I have to pay my final respects to an old partner of mine."

The unkempt detective walked off towards his car. He coughed once or twice. He was halfway through fumbling for his car keys when Vic's voice remarked—

"She's so happy. It's almost like we've lived completely unrelated lives."

Decker turned around and gave him a defecating expression. "Who...?"

Victor muttered, a tyred eye darting towards the football game. "Sarah Simms."

"You mean that chick you were staring at earlier?"

Victor squinted at the man. "Just how long have you been stalking me anyways?"

"To each his own."

Victor sighed and rubbed his head. "I haven't seen her since the accident. Everyone else I've talked to has been freaked out. I think the only reason I haven't had the guts to say 'hi' to Sarah is that I want her to stay the way I've seen her: happy, carefree, unafraid."

"I hate to break it to ya kid," Decker smirked. "But robot-freak or not, the world hardly revolves around anyone that much."

Victor blinked. He looked over at the man. "No. It doesn't. It's our job to hold it up on our shoulders...ain't it?"

Decker merely stared back. Then a green light pulsed over his forehead as several young voices shouted in shock and awe from the football field. Both the detective and the half-android gazed skyward as an emerald plume roared through the black night and thundered towards the heart of Downtown.

"What in the ass-spanking Hell?" Decker wheezed.

Cyborg swiftly raised a hand to his red eye, scanning. "A plasma force-field. Some sort of unearthly chemical, possibly Helenium or Bronstenium. But there are—whoa dayum—two life forms!"

"Life forms?.!.?"

"Yessir. One human. The other—I dunno."

"You can see all that in a flying fart?" Decker flew to his umarked car, flung the door open, and whipped out a walkie-talkie. "This is Inspector Decker to all available forces-"

"You remember what you said about loving this City?" Victor began running towards Downtown.

"A lil busy here!" Decker shouted and returned to his communicator.

"Way ahead of ya!" Victor smirked, dragged his hood back on, and went into full sprint just as the comet struck a distant City district beyond. THUDDD!

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(Ten Months Ago)

"Get on the floor—GET. YOUR. ASSES. ON. THE. FLOOR." The dark-skinned man waved an uzi at the cowering business people. He shoved/forced them to huddle into a corner while two other men carted a metal rack with an electronic array of explosives against the wall.

Near a stretch of windows, a tall African American in a leather jacket stood with a shotgun and gazed out as over two dozen Jump City police cars swiftly formed a barrier twelve stories below.

"Hey Ron! Is it a huge party or what outside?" One of the men arming the bomb remarked, breathlessly.

Ron Evers, his grip of the shotgun as tight as his concentrated face, turned towards his followers and muttered: "More like a funeral." He kicked a chair viciously towards the seven hostages, forcing them to shriek and shudder. "LISTEN UP!" He cocked his shotgun and marched with heavy, metal-laced boots in a circle around them. "You are no longer citizens. You are nao currency. If your 'generous' employer, James K Powers, considers you as valuable as he handsomely pays you, he'll waste no time in paying our organization the allotted ransom."

He stood before one particularly panicking woman and tilted her chin up with the barrel of his shotgun.

"However...if he's half the yellow-bellied asshole I know he is, then he'll drag his heels. Which means my homies and I are gonna send your remains sky-high, rendering this whole building to the same pile of garbage Powers has made out of District Twelve, where over two hundred families are nao living in poverty thanks to his broken promises and ignorance."

One of the businesspeople, a wrinkly blonde-haired man with an aged frown, spoke up: "Cut the crap, boy. There's no justice to this! Holding us at gunpoint like a pack wolves, you're all just a bunch of punks, you no good ni—"

Ch-CHTUNG! Ron Evers planted the barrel against the man's forehead. "Go on—SAY IT!"

"..." The man stared, wide-eyed. "I-I..."

"Go and say what your white-ass was gonna say! You stupid, spoonmouthed, ignorant sonuvabitch—SAY IT!" Evers hissed. "You want me to be a punk? You want me to be some hip-hop spoutin', gun totin', bitch-tappin' rape monkey like you dream up in your sports car with the windows rolled up to keep the smell of this City out, then okay! Allow me to get all punk-ass up in your head with a lead sandwich, bitch! That the nightmare you wanna live out today? That what you want your kids to sob about at your funeral?"

"...N-No!"

"Then shut your dayum mouth and know your place, asshole!"

WHAM! He slammed the man with the butt of the shotgun. The hostage crumpled to the ground with a groan. Others gasped and sobbed. Ron Evers paced around them, calmed his breath, and spoke to the echoing lengths of the office.

"This precious 'Jump City' of yours is built on uneven pillars. Always have been. While you spoiled bastards have been enjoying morning coffees and overtime bonuses, the other half of the City struggles to stay alive overnight, to get a bite to eat, to walk across the street without worry of dirty cops or drive-by's. And I'm sure that all this comes as a shock to you-Cuz so much of the grime and the guts splay themselves in the streets up north, where you wouldn't have your white hides caught dead in. But how can you possibly live in a City that affords some of its people parades along the boardwalk and others unwarranted invasions of their own homes? Well, don't worry, cuz soon enough—y'all may not be living any longer."

The hostages shuddered, murmured, and cried amongst themselves over the next few minutes. As the silence persevered—save for the muted sirens emanating below/outside—the tension built up. One of the gunmen shuffled over to Evers and muttered:

"Yo, how come we ain't heard nothing yet?"

"Be patient..." Evers grumbled.

"I'm tellin' ya, Powers ain't bitin'!" The companion hissed. "He's trying to think up a scheme to save these shitheads. I say we just escape through the basement and blow this place already!"

"We spent the better part of a year setting this up!" Evers glared at the lackey. "You think we're gonna give the right message turning this building to rubble without so much as voicing ourselves? We're trying to make a statement, dawg. Or have you forgotten that?"

"I'm just saying—"

"Hey! Ron!"

The other three gunmen looked towards the window. "What is it, Jay?" Ron asked, holding his shotgun out.

The one thug motioned out the window with his head. "I think something's up."

"If Decker's out there, he's probably got snipers being set up. Nao would be a good time to draw the blinds—"

"No, for real, dawg. You seein' this shit?"

"What shit?"

"Some tall freak in silver metal!"

Ron Evers froze. He blinked icily. "...did you say silver metal?"

"It's coming this way! And from the looks of it—" The man jerked, his gaze went up...up...up—And he jumped back, fumbling over his gun. "HOSHIT—"

SHATTTTTTTTTTTERRRRRR!.!.!.!

Victor Stone leapt in through the window. In the slow motion adrenaline of the chaos, he landed in an earth-shattering crouch. Rippling waves of energy emanated left and right, sending the nearest thug to the ground.

Two other gunmen ran past Evers, waving their uzis. RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

P-P-P-PING! Bullets ricocheted off Victor's chest, shoulder, and forehead. He shook the metal fragments off his head, frowned with a glaring red eye, and charged—"RAAAAAAUGH!"-WHAMMMM! He all-but-impaled one thug at the end of his fist.

The man's air left his lungs in a blink.

SWOOOOSH—THUD! Victor swung the breathless thug like a club into another man, collapsing them both—unconscious—against the wall.

"Damn damn damn!" Jay stumbled back up and charged Vic from behind. "Take this!" CLANK! He slammed the back of Vic's head.

"..." Vic turned around, unphased. He headbutted the gunman. WHUMP!

"OOF!" Jay fell down, silent.

Victor turned—KA-BLAMMM!—"AUGH" He fell back from a shotgun blast directly to his neck. The teenager's metal skin smoked from the spray of lead.

Ch-Chtung! Ron Evers loaded the next shell, marched over, and stood with one hand on the rack of explosives. "DUMB. ASS. Victor! Kneehouse put you up to this, didn't she?"

"Dammit, Ron!" Victor limply climbed back to his feet, surrounded by glass and collapsed thugs. The sirens wailed nakedly through the cold, open window behind him. "Quit while you're ahead! This ain't like your previous stunts! You're in over your ass this time!"

"You think I don't know that?" Ron frowned. "This is for real, dawg. Nobody knows that more than I do!"

"You sure about that?" Victor took one step forward but stopped at the sight of Ron's finger against the explosive's trigger mechanism. "You say in all of your ralleys and speeches that you're 'Fighting for your people'. Ever thought about what impact this will have on your family? Your friends?"

"I'm doing it for them. And in case you've gotten too comfortable in that snow-white metal skin of yours—They're OUR people, Victor. Yours and mine."

"Ron, we've been over this time and time again. I may be no sociologist, but radical acts of violence like this ain't gonna make society respect you—But fear you. There's got to be another solution—"

"Hah! Like what?" Ron snickered. "Like you? Tchh-Look at you, man! Covered in silver shit and spandex, propositioned by the City to do its dirty work. You're nothing more than Commissioner Kneehouse's personal little robo-negro. And—as a matter of fact—so's been your old man all his life!"

"Knock it off, Ron..."

"Just the same old slave to the damn White Power runnin' this lopsided country of ours. Well, enough is enough. Somebody's gotta make a stand and show them how much the system sucks in our day and age. You could have joined my efforts months ago, Vic. But you were too busy supporting the status quo, you got yourself believin' in what Decker, Kneehouse, Georgeton, and every other white snob in this City believes: 'Everything's okay as long as it stays color-coded and separate'. Well that goes up into the air today along with this whole building. So back the Hell up before I take you with me!"

Victor roared: "My father's spent all his life giving to Jump City's citizens. All of its citizens. The money from his research went into the Projects we grew up in, man. Why are you bringing him down all of the sudden?"

"And why are YOU defending his stupid ass?" Ron snickered. "I know how much you hate that low-life! He got your momma dead and dumped your half-melted corpse into a soup can! What have you got to defend him for?"

"You're right, Ron," Victor stood firmly. "I hate my dad."

"Damn straight you do-!"

"But there are worse people in this world." Victor's red eye glistened. "Dumber people."

"You talkin' about me?"

"Sure am. Cuz in all of your political radicalism, violent egotism, and tunnel vision, you've forgotten one thing, Ron."

"And what's that?"

"In the two years since my dad tossed my melted corpse into this 'soup can'..." Victor clenched his fist. "...I've been color-blind." FWOOOOOSH!—He suddenly flew his whole, titanium fist down into the floor. THUDDDDD! The floor cracked, sending a ravine of shattered bulkheads swimming violently towards Ron's feet at the speed of sound.

"AUGH—" the young man tripped.

FWOOOSH! Victor dashed towards him and back-handed his body away like a cricket ball.

"OMMF!" Ron slammed against a faraway wall.

Stomp-Stomp-Stomp! Victor blurred towards the explosives, grabbed the electronic trigger in the center, and yanked it completely off the charges—rendering them inert. Bzzzt! "Whew..."

"Damn you, Vic—" Ron got up, wincing. Ch-Chtung! He aimed his shotgun straight at the hostages. "DAMN YOU—"

"!.!.!.!" Vic spun with a snarl and flung the metal trigger straight at Ron's forehead.

CLANG! Ron reeled and dropped the shotgun—BLAM!—that blew off against his ankle. "AAAUGH!" He hobbled, stumbled bloodily, and fell...straight out the shattered window. "AAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaugh!" Silence, for a beat, then the unmistakable crunch of the terrorist's body landing through the windshield of a sportscar below. Smash!-Wrii-Wrii-Wrii.

"..." Cyborg closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. "...sorry, old friend."

The hostages murmured in relief.

Cyborg shuffled slowly, sadly over to give them a hand up.

The blonde man with an aged face recoiled: "D-Don't touch me! Y-You...F-Freak!"

"Dude..." Cyborg grabbed the man's hand anyways and forced the trembling citizen up to his feet. "You don't know the half of it." After dragging the unconscious gunmen into a corner and binding their arms, he walked out—just as the police came rushing in. "Ya don't know anything..."

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(One and a half years ago)

She didn't dye her hair. It was in the burning hot thick of summer, school was out like Elton John at a closet factory, and the sands practically vomited vapors of rampaging heat endlessly into the salty air. And yet—she hadn't turned her threads blonde like all her giggling friends around her. It was still a gorgeous, earth-rich auburn... ...like her voice was rich... ... ...like her smile was rich, positively cavity-inducing, with so much as a glimpse his way... ... ...but only nao in dreams.

Dreams—as that moment was the shadow of, a briefly beatiful imitation of an image locked in his hybridized brain, as he sat in the SUV, his windows rolled down, and his sweatjacket's hood raised up so as to crown the topsy turvy king of fools, this thing he had been reduced to, huddled in the driver's seat like an iceberg readying to crack in half and sink to the bottom of himself...without her...

And yet he lingered, and yet he stared, and yet he hoped—that she would turn his way with a glance, with a blink, with a gasp or a scream—anything-to summon him forth, to lure him out, as he was powerless to push himself out of the car, as he was quick to think of her voice and her laugh and her harmonious voice—and shuddered to think of all of it quaking, crumbling at the mere sight of him, of the halves that tried to make up the whole, a whole that she once treasured—or so he thought she treasured—that he had once skipped school and defied his billionaire family just to bestow upon her...

...by her grace.

And there she was. Undyed and unhindered and unnaturally natural—a match to his dreams, to his forlorn memories making sobbing doppelgangers of themselves within the funhouse mirror of laboratoried loneliness, hours upon hours in the beeping isolation, of tracing invisible lines that shaped into patterns of her against metallic celings, but none of them looking remotely as gorgeous as this, this sight, this real life Sarah Simms.

It had been twenty minutes. She and her friends had parked their bikes on the beachsside courtyard just for some ice cream. It had all melted eons ago—and so soon would their conversation. He couldn't delay the holocaust any longer. He had to leap.

And so he did, ungluing himself from his SUV—one iron foot forward, careful so as not to rattle a manhole loose, to send a flock of seagulls blitzkrieging with horror into the ocean. He gently thundered forward...a ghostly Nephal upon the flanks of Jump City, poisoning the promised land between him and her in half—regretting and rejoicing every inch gained with every footstep—almost within the breath of saying her name, and begging for her forgiveness, of confessing in one songbird sentence all of the feelings he ever had for her, still clinging to the fringes of flesh he could still ache with-

And then a hot seabreeze, hilariously cruel, and his metallic crown was exposed to the glistening sun, just as two soccer moms sashayed within view—their baby carriages nearly colliding as they gasped at the sight of this sudden and most definite monstrosity:

"Ohmigawd!"

"What is it?"

"It's some horrid thing from Metropolis or Keystone City!"

"Oh jeez, Oh jeez—Somebody call s-somebody-!"

His anchored horror was only matched by a vaster iciness, as for a moment he envisioned a tsunami rising over the East and bearing down on Jump City—only it wasn't a tidal wave, but it was the slow and syrupy turn of Sarah's head towards him—like a prisoner being dipped into a vat of acid, and he wasn't there to witness it...not even for the sweet kiss of her eyes upon widening...for he was back to the SUV in a thunderous bound, starting the thing up even more thunderously, and roaring down the street before anyone else could react to—much less register-the thing at which the two mothers were shrieking.

"Damn you...Damn you, Old man... ... ..." Was all the coward in him could muster, seething and grabbing for his sweatshirt's hood—yanking it over himself, nearly blinding him to oncoming traffic, though he barely cared...as he steered viciously alone into the cold breath of tomorrow. He was sweating a fountain, his metal and flesh parts glistening in the sheer moment of what almost was, what could have been, but all the while: "You can build me pores, sweat glands, a dayum tube, but you had to come short some place..." He grumbled, caught a glimpse of his dry self in the rear view mirror, and sighed momentarily into a red-tinted darkness as he surrendered to one eye and one eye alone. "Damn you, old man..."

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(Two years ago)

"Oh m-my god..."

"Wh-What is that...thing?"

"Did it just escape from Phaser Labs?"

"Look away, honey. Look away."

"Somebody call the police!"

"Holy Crap! What the Hell is that?"

In the center of Bayside Plaza, people gasped and spread every which way...staring, gawking, blinking…

At him.

Him, who gleamed all over. Him, who clanked with every step. Him, who saw everyone staring at him—And simply stared back, scowling.

Shoppers shrieked and leapt out of the way as if he would trample them. Mothers ushered their children into the nearest shops, peering out. People on bicycles and skateboards stopped altogether, flanked by clusters of silent, jaw-dropping high schoolers who were no less numbed in fear and curiosity...

Only one person said anything, and he was frantically chasing after him—His gray head poking sweatily, breathlessly out of a ruffled labcoat. "Vic! Victor...Victor, come back here at once!"

He didn't respond. He marched forward, undaunted, his metal limbs glistening in the sunlight.

"Victor! I mean it! Your circuitry isn't entirely ready to handle weather effects! You could short out and collapse out here!"

"Then let me." Victor muttered, marching across the Plaza. Away from Silas Stone. "Just a matter of time before any machine breaks down, right?"

"Dammit, young man! I could have hit a button and deactivated you the very second you left the transport, but I didn't—"

"And what's stopping you?" Victor spun around, his yelling voice echoing across the plaza. "It must be easy having a son nao that you can just switch him off at the touch of a button!"

Silas Stone leaned back from his angry son's huge girth. He glanced left and right, nervously. "No. Victor." He wheezed. Quietly. "N-Not out here. Not in front of everyone—"

"YES, Dad! Right here—In front of everyone! Let them all see your proud creation! No more hiding it, let's let the monster out of the gate!" Victor turned, roared, and grabbed an eating table from the floor—ripping it loose from its chained restraints. SNAP! "Citizens of Jump City!"

"Victor—"

"Reel in terror at Silas Stone's latest technological achievement! The amazing, metal teenager!" He slammed the table straight down into the concrete, eliciting distant shrieks. "RAAAUGH!" SMASSSH! "Enjoy it, old man! You worked realllllly long and hard. It only cost mom's life!"

Seagulls flew violently away. People gasped. Someone muttered about calling the police.

"Boy, I loved her more than you could ever know." Silas fumed. "And the last thing she'd have you do is parade yourself around like a madman—"

"My mother..." Victor glared at the scientist. "...raised a young gentlemen, whom she loved, and was allowed to live the life that he wanted. But YOU—" He pointed a whirring, metal finger. "—couldn't settle for anything but a carbon copy of yourself, who'd dance in step to your scientific legacy. And so you experimented on me, crammed me into study course after study course, ruined my dreams of joining the athletics department at school. And if that wasn't enough—at the first chance you get, you program me into your personal walking furniture. Bet it's all easy nao, huh? Tchh." He turned to march off. "Give it up, old man. You can make a better son out of a refrigerator."

"Dammit—Victor, I saved your LIFE!"

"LIFE?" Victor once again reeled while all the Plaza's people watched in tense silence. "You call this living? Face it, Dad. I'm just another one of your dumb-ass experiments! But it's just as well, ain't it? You cared more about it then you ever cared about me or mom—And that's why you let her die; it's much better spending the time and resources to make me what I could never be by my own choice!"

"Victor—"

"Because you KNEW...YOU KNEW, old man, that never in a damn heartbeat would she let you get away with this. Well, congratulations, dad. You're just what you've always worked to become: an old, unloved, heartless egghead whose accomplishments outweigh the fools who still pretend to love him. So guess what?-you just lost another." He clenched his fists and backed out into the nearby street. "I'd tell you how much I hate you, but that'd give you the illusion that I ever loved you to begin with. Go jump off a balcony, you selfish, cold-hearted, prick."

"Dammit, Victor—LOOK OUT!"

"Huh-?"

HONKKKKK-CRASSSSSH! A huge UPS truck slammed full force into Victor's titanium shell of a body. Glass, shrapnel, and chunks of aluminum flew every which way. Victor's body, haoever, didn't budge an inch.

People gasped. A few brave souls ran towards the crash, chattering and shouting and squawking to 911 on their cell phones.

"All right...All right...Back off, everyone." Vic motioned them back, grumbling exasperatingly, and tore his fists into the smoking wreck of a van. CRKKKK-KKKKT! He ripped a hole in the front compartment of the crumpled truck and safely pulled the bruised body of the UPS driver out.

"Hmmph..." He performed a scan of the man's body. "No broken limbs, but it'd be a good idea to get him to an ambulance to have that head checked out. Looks like a slight concussion, according to the neural scan."

The people stared at him. Silent.

"Okay, LOOK!" He growled. "I'm sorry! Just stop gawking at me, okay? Get him out of here already!"

Silas Stone rushed up. "Don't be afraid, everyone! I-I'll pay for all the damage. No need for everyone to call the police—"

"Dad, can it." Victor grumbled, a hand over his face. "You're making it worse."

"Fat load of good you did, walking into the street like a fool—Not ALL of you is invulnerable, son—"

"Stop pretending like you care about what part of me is left to hurt."

"And stop making me into a demon!" Silas shoved a finger into the teen's chest. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be a hunk of half-baked flesh suspended forever in a protein bath!"

"Yeah, and if it wasn't for you, I'd be in a much better place right nao!" Cyborg frowned, grabbed the man's fist, and painfully wrenched it away. "I know what you're trying to do, and you're not fooling anyone—Especially me. You want redemption for mom's life. But it's not going to be that easy. And you know why?"

"..." Silas merely looked away, silent, rubbing his aching hand.

Victor bent over and hissed in his father's ear. "Because no matter how much money you cram into me—How much tech you pour over me—How much you try to keep the Stone family alive with circuits and styrofroam, it won't changed the fact that you killed it. That's right, old man. You're a family-murderer. And Mom? She won't be waiting for you where you're headed after all is said and done. And neither will I, as a matter of fact. So shut me down, if you like. It won't turn the nightmare off..."

Victor swiveled about, and marched away.

Lost in the shadow of truck smoke and aluminum ashes, his father remained. Cold and alone. This time, he didn't bother chasing after his son...or what used to be his...

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(Two and a half years ago)

There was a hissing noise. All around. The smell of roasted meat. Then a sterilized kiss of steam, like an icy current against the hiss—and then he realized that the hiss belonged to him, in that it was burning...something's flesh was burning...his flesh-

"Snkkt-haaack—hackkkaaa-aaaauhg...Waaahaaa-AAAAA-HAAAUGHHH-BNNNGHHHH!" A single eye opened up. Panting. Panting. Panting. Panting. The bloody world darted left and right. Blinking things. Steaming things. Coming into focus. Metal and metal and steam and metal. Tendrils dipped down into places where his ribs used to be, where his toes used to be. Where his genitals used to be. A bubbling liquid funnel, a spark of flame—and the hissing increased as steam rose from something that resembled the shell of a teenage left leg, almost severed...being severed-"Hckkk-HAGGGHAAAA...Huhh...Huhh...Huh-HAAAGHHH!"

"Snkkkt-Body temperature is rising, heartrate accelerating-"

"What?"

"My god, he's coming to."

"Jesus—Increase the dosage, we're not ready for transfusion-"

"Hrckkklglgsst—Haaghhhh—Mmmmo...M-Mmmmo...MMM-MMMmmomma! Nnnkkt-Momma!" A fountain of worms boiling down his neck. His vomit. Bubbles of red and pus. The one eyed darting world—a familiar face bounding towards him, dizzying—a pair of reflective glasses showing a half digested scrap of life twitching back in twofold. "Mkkllt-Mommaaaaaa-Ahhha-aaaa-aaaughhhh!"

"Victor. Victor, listen to me, Victor." The spectacle'd thing garbled. "I know it hurts. I know it hurts, Victor, but you have to remain calm. We—I am halfway through the process of containing your vital organs—(Hunnicutt! Get the doseage already!)-And I just need you to hang in there a little while longer. I'm n-not going to lose you, do you hear me-?"

"Mmmn-gyaaaaaa-HRGNNNKkkkt-" A bloodied stalk batted his hand away but the man re-gripped the metal table.

"I mean it, son! I love you and I am not going to give up on you-"

"We're losing them both! We need to sustain the protein bath-"

"Nrkkkt!" At that, the world darted every which way—past the glaring lights, the hazy crimson aura of hurt—and then he saw it, a hanging it, a pulsing and throbbing...thrashing it... ... ...suspended in a giant glass tube of bubbling liquid... ... ...an it with no head, an it with no limbs, an it with half a torso... ... ...

... ... ...but he could swear she was looking at him.

"Snkkt—Hrakkk...Dad...srkkkt...Dammittt-Haaaahnntkkk"

"Vic—Please. All is not lost."

"Hrkkk...mmnnghh please...Kill her, Dad-Hgrhhakkk-"

"I need you to have faith, son."

"Hnnngh—AHhhhhaugh—no, stop-"

"I need you-"

"Hnghh—Dammit, Dad—KILL HER!.!.! Hnnnkhaahaaa-"

"Got it! Got it!"

"Acceptable doseage."

"He's going under! He's-"

Red.

Then black.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(Three Years Ago….)

"Mom! Come on! Come on!"

Victor panted, sweat pouring down his dark skin as he tugged her along with him. He knew that he could move faster than that—run like a cruising motorcycle. Years of covert wrestling matches in uptown gynmasiums while his father was slaving away at Phaser Labs gave him a super-soldier's physique. But for their sake...for her sake...he had to pace himself.

"It's gonna blow! We have to go!"

"Victor! Your father—" She panted, tripping as she stumbled to follow along. Elinore Stone looked behind them at the half-barren parking lot surrounding the countryside laboratory. "He needs my help! He can't close the Quantum Gate on his own—"

"He's doing what he can to buy us time!" Victor all but dragged her to the family car. "We've already called Dr. Ray! They'll send the help Dad needs nao—Dammit, mom! Take those heels off already!"

She peeled her shoes off and ran after him, barefoot. "But we can't just leave him!"

"Just who opened that stupid portal to begin with?" Victor frowned, fumbling for keys, panting—

"Victor..."

"No time to argue, Mom. He's done it this time. We're gettin' the Hell outta here." He yanked the door open, flung himself in, and opened the door for her. "Get in! Getingetingetin—"

She all but collapsed into the seat. No sooner had she dragged her feet in—Victor was already pulling the car in reverse. SCREEEEEECH! Gravel flew. The tires smoked. He spun the wheel and the car hurled around till it stopped, facing the gates to the laboratory complex.

"Open the gates!" Victor shouted.

Elinore Stone fumbled over the controls. The gates' alarm went off. The fence refused to open.

"Damn it! What gives?" Victor sweated.

"I think the security system's gone into effect!" Elinore uttered. "The computer thinks that there's an intrusion on the premises."

"Intrusion my ass! There's a frickin' portal to Neptune or some place exploding inside the place—That DAD opened, might I add—"

Brrrbbbmmbmmbb! The earth shook. A puff of flame flashed and flickered out of the windows of the laboratory. Both mother and son glanced back through the rear of the car.

"Oh Jesus, God in Heaven..." Elinore panted. "Silas...my Silas..."

Victor breathlessly glanced back, forward, then at his mother. "Mom. Buckle up."

"What are you doing, Victor—?"

"Hold tight!" Victor tensed and slammed on the gas. VRMMMM!

The car reeled, then soared straight forward towards the gate.

"N-No, Vic!" She shrieked and held onto her seat, flinching from what was beyond the windowshield. "That fence is high tension! We can't break it!"

"What choice do we have?.!.?" He grunted.

VRMMMM-CLANNNNNG! The car stopped hard against the fence, bending and bulging it—But not breaking through.

"Nnngh!—Vic!" She gasped.

"We'll get through!" Victor panted and backed up before once again. "We've got to!"—VRMMMMM—CLANNGG!

Again, the fence bent, shattered a bit, but didn't break. Sparks flew off the support beams as the electrified wiring twitched all over.

"Come on...Come on..." VRMMMM-SCREEEEECH—ScrkkkkScrkkkkSCNKKKT! He forced the car against the fence but it fought back, barely creaking and rattling. "Come on. Come on."

Elinore took a deep breath. "Victor..."

"We're getting away, Mom. I promise you—"

"Victor, if something should happen..."

"Nothing's gonna happen! We're gonna get out—"

"I just want you to know that I love you."

He glanced aside, eyes twitching, then back to the wheel. "I know you do, Mom. Nao let's just focus on—"

"And your dad loves you t-" KAPOWWWWW!

The laboratory exploded behind them. But it just didn't explode, it took the ground with it, and the parking lot—bowling up and outward like plasma oatmeal—and in less than a blink—

THWOOOOOSH!

The car was lifted up. At first, Victory didn't know how high—Until he saw the horizon flip a few times, and he saw—in the briefest of blinks—the bent shape of the outer fence several hundred feet away. Then the weight of the car pulled it down nose-first as it barreled back towards the Earth—Only it was no longer the Earth, but a quivering wave of quantum energy. Bolts of plasma emanated from the bowels of what was once Phaser Labs—but nao all destroyed, except for a single, impervious bunker...where he was...

"Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus save us—" Elinore shrieked against the fingers of gravity.

Victor gasped for air—finding nothing but the tongues of flame. He twitched his head to the side. "Mom—" He turned. He stopped. Time slowed for an instance. Beyond his mother, the ground yawned up, and straight through her shattering window came a bolt of plasma, hot, cold, blue—But turning red just as soon as the woman's body exploded...

...and rained all over his screaming face.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(Three and a half years ago)

Stomp-Stomp-Stomp-THUD! A meaty arm fiercely clothselined Victor, so that the teenager went comet-colliding down into the springy mat.

"OOF!" He exhaled in a purposefully sharp punctuation of his collapse, the bright hexagonal lights of the gymnasium spinning above his spandex'd figure in a muted howbeit definitively real pain.

"Ohhh—The Rookie just can't get a break! How is Stony Victorious gonna stand straight after that vicious clothesline?" The voice on the loudspeaker crackled defiantly over a rising tumult of roars, cat calls, hissings, and methodical chants that rose in a bloodthirsty halo above the heads of a disheveled audience. "Never mind that shiet! Jonny Too Kool is going in for the kill!"

A strong hand flew down and grabbed a clump of Victor's wooly black hair. The aching, sweating teen slowly hobbled up into his opponent's grasp as he was 'forced' into a vicious 'headlock'.

Jonny Too Kool hissed, panted, swallowed, and leaned into Victor's ear as he mumbled discreetly into the headlock: 'Belly to body suplex. Then armbar, then switch.'

'Got it' Victor murmured twice as quietly—Before being grabbed, hoisted up into a spinning world, and bodyslammed hard once more into the mat. WHUMP!

The Lower Metropolis Gymnasium roared in cheers and boos equally, as the audience lifted to higher and higher levels with each violent impact. The announcer's table rocked in the pounding enthusiasm while Victor was being raised to his feet and twisted painfully with his arm held backwards in a vicious armbar.

"Jonny Too Kool is reaching way deep into the playbook for this one, folks! Hah! What a way for the challenger to be robbed out of a chance to win the Northeastern Championship Belt! Can he summon the intestinal fortitude to wrench himself out of Jonny's iron grip-"

Victor snarled through his nostrils, his face wrenching dramatically, and then—both of his brown eyes flared—and he dug his feet into the mat. "Snkkkt-" And he backflipped, uncoiling his arm within Jonny's grasp like a rubber band, and jumped a second time, reverse kicking his opponent in the sternum and breaking the armbar.

Jonny flailed wildly, fell into the ropes, bounced back—and fell right into Victor's arms as he raised the gasping man and mercilessly dropped his groin straight into his knee. Jonny gasped long and hard, crossing his legs and limping—almost comically—until Victor bounced off against the rope, leapt, and slammed Jonny down to the match with a sailing body press. The gymnasium thundered with the canvass' impact, accompanied by a roar of arm pumping fans—and soon Victor himself was leaping back up to his feet, one athlete joined with the endless exultation.

"WOW! Stony Victorious with a comeback out of friggin' nowhere, reminding Jonny Too Kool of their previous matchup in Gotham City! Jonny was able to come out strong there—But will he lose his KOOL tonight?"

Victor panted, panted, gazed with animal frenzy at the crowd, and raised two fists trogether before pounding them side by side straight over his head. Alone in the center of the ring, Jonny reeling, and the referee circling, Victor chanted two words-

But the crowd beat him to it: 'BOO-YAAAA!'

"What's this? What's this? Is it—? YES! He's going to do it! Looks like Stony Victorious is setting Jonny up! Look out, Too Kool! You're between a stone and The Hard Place!"

Again, Victor chanted. And again, the audience replied: 'BOO-YAAAA!'

Victor grinned. This was his moment. He kneed Jonny hard in the chest. The opponent bent over. Seething, Victor hooked his round fists with Jonny's elbows and made to hoist him up into a modified powerbomb-when he hesitated, blinking, a face that melted out of character at the sight of...

...Silas Stone. Two cops. All three of them, appearing like a burning ember in the middle of a field of dirty snow—marching slowly, solidly, liquidly down an aisle of soiled folding chairs, their eyes locked on Stony Victorious, Silas' eyes locked on Stony Victorious—the angry and disgusted glare piercing through to Victor's suddenly shaking, teenage bones.

"... ... ..." Victor lingered five seconds too long, summoning a confused gasp—then a mutual groan from the audience.

Against his chest, a confused and writhing Jonny hoarsely whispered: 'Victorious-? What gives...?'

"..." Victor gaped. The sweat on his face doubled. The ache in his limbs receded from a cold, ghostly deluge that engulfed him-

"Victor-"

"Counter..."

"Wh-What?"

Victor made like he was 'struggling' to put Jonny into the powerbomb. "Counter...then clothesline, then a sleeper hold."

"Victor-"

"Do it!"

"NnnNNNNGH!" Jonny overpowered Victorious, batting his arms away, popping him twice in the face with an open fist, then grabbing his far arm and plowing him roughly to the ground with a murderous lariat.

THUD! Victor gasped, sputtered—not quite prepared for it, a saliva trail of rookie patheticness mixed with blood on his chin—GRIP!-and he was hoisted into Jonny's headlock, painfully from behind. The referee closed in, shouting, measuring the length to which Jonny's sleeper hold was 'knocking out' Victor.

The Referee leaned in and hissed: 'Victor, what gives? Are you hurt?"

The teen hissed, glaring through the ropes, past the audience, towards the glare that refused to wrench itself from him. Silas Stone, the end of that evening, the end of everything, the uninvited curtain call to anything Victor endeavored to live beyond the programmed box of his existence. He had no idea hao Silas found him, but he did. And there was no leaping over this hurdle. There was no ascension here. There was no-

'I'm gonna job to you...'

'W-What...?' Jonny hissed into the back of Victor's head, employing the arts of a veritable ventriloquist. 'Dammit, Victor—This was your big push. Don't chicken out nao-'

'I mean it! The belt stays. I lose this!'

'It's not even the third bit'- Jonny grumbled, 'wrenching' Victor's neck more to the referee's pantomime prostests as the audience tossed to and fro around the ring. 'What about the plan-?'

'Counter my Irish whip into the turnbuckle then do your finisher' Victor's head was bowed, but still he felt a pair of burning eyes into the top of his skull. 'I promise I'll put us over.'

'Dammit...Dammit...Dammit—' Jonny Too Kool released his grip of the sleeper hold and telegraphed a german suplex-

-giving Victor the opportunity to counter, reverse kicking Jonny, gripping his neck, and dropping him to the mat with a DDT. THUD! Victor got up immediately to his feet—and just as the referee stepped close to him, he snarled and swung his arm out—flinging the referee clear across the mat.

The audience gasped and roared as the referee reacted dramatically.

"Whoah! Out of nowhere, a beast rises from within Stony Victorious-!"

Victor snarled, his face growing increasingly animalistic. He turned, marched over, and proceeded to repeatedly stomp a flailing and yelping Jonny Too Kool, helplessly bound to the mat. THWUMP! TH-THWUMP! WHUMP!

"Oh no! He's lost it! Stony Victorious has totally lost it! If there's anything he hates—it's being put in a sleeper hold, and he's making Jonny Too Kool pay for—What's this?.!.?"

Victor marched over to the turnbuckle and—with angry hands—started unlacing the turnbuckle pad, whipping it loose and exposing the metal. The referee came, clamoring, in a desperate effort to 'stop' him, but Victor merely shoved him so hard that the referee got entangled with the ropes. With the metal of the corner exposed, the rookie athelete roared his catch-phrase at the crowd—but only got a rising series of boo's and jeers in return. With a look of pure murder on his face, he proceeded to march over and lift Jonny up by the scruff of his neck.

"Oh no—Don't do it, Victorious! You have come this far so clean! Don't ruin your career by doing it this way! Look out, Jonny-!"

Victor took a deep breath, yanked on Jonny's arm—and flung him towards the turnbuckle-

-only for Jonny to counter midway, flinging Victor violently towards the weapon of his own construction, so that his forehead banged hard—really hard—against the iron turnbuckle. SM-SMACK!

The crowd shuddered, wincing and hissing.

"OHMAHGAWWWD!"

Th-Thwump! Victor flopped unceremoniously to the floor. While Jonny reeled above him, the young teenager dipped a pair of fingers strealthily into his armband, produced a tiny sharp object, and slashed it straight across his forehead. By the time he stood up, a thick river of blood oozed down from his skull. He blinked dazedly, reeling...staring thinly through the estuary of crimson that lit up the crowd like a roman candle.

Achingly, he stood up on a pair of wobbling feet and sold the bloody injury, gazing out...out...out...until he saw him...

...and Silas looked back. The endless glare. The stone-set eyes.

"... ... ... ..." And Victor grinned. Grinned through his blood. A chuckle nearly escaped from his red-stained teeth, when suddenly Jonny's arm wrapped around his neck, and Jonny's foot wrapped around his leg, and the blood-splattered air roared through his vision, ripping the sight of Silas away—as Victor was slammed down hard by a modified Russian legsweep.

THUD!

"Oh god! The Crash for Cash! And..."

One pound.

A second pound.

A third-

"Jonny wins! Jonny wins! His trademark finisher to a vicious and out of control Victorious, and he retains the Northeasten Championship belt! What a crazy comeback! This crowd is going nuts!"

A convenient truth, for the air was on fire with a dead heat of mixed boo's and exclamations. All too quickly, a crimson-faced Victor rolled under the ropes, and landed on his feet—plop!-until he was standing nose to bloody nose with his father.

"... ... ..." Silas stared.

"... ... ..." Victor smiled.

"... ... ..." Silas turned away.

"... ... ...?" Victor blinked.

Unemotionally, Silas motioned to the two police officers, and walked away. The cops just as mutely stood beside Victor's flank, until the teenager witlessly followed in his father's footsteps—not so much under coersion as he was tethered to a nub of perplexity, centered upon his father, mesmerized over the lack of a reaction Victor had so endeavored to create...so that the throbbing chaos of the gymnasium and the confused utterances from fellow athletes did nothing to jar Victor out of his decisive march out of the arena, out of his Victorious Career, and into a parking lot under the cold haze of Metropolitan night, the cold dog-barking hiss of Suicide Slums all around, as father and son stumbled as one to a black limousine.

"For the next half of the semester, you are being home-schooled." Silas said with finality, a one sided conversation. "You're not to leave the Corporate Headquarters. You'll be watched at all times."

"I'm your son. Not your prisoner-"

"You'll resume your mathematical studies. You'll resume your astrophysics major."

"Dad-"

"And you'll resume the chess club, starting tomorrow night. I don't care if you have to wear bandages on your head-"

"Hey—SILAS." Victor growled.

Silas opened a limousine door. "... ... ..." He pivoted to gaze boredly at his flesh and blood.

The teenager smirked at his father under the leaking red. "These last few months I've had?" He spat happily. "You can never take those away."

"Fine." Silas coldly nodded. "Treasure them for what they'll give you...For what it's all worth."

Victor chuckled. He hoisted himself into the car-

"Ohgod—Victor!"

-and into the gasping, horrified face of his mother.

"... ... ..." Victor blinked, frozen in place, his eyes wide at the sight of her grimace.

Elinore Stone stared back, recoiling in her seat, her quivering lips announcing the utter shock at seeing her mutilated son's face.

And it was then that Victor shook...and Victor heaved...for he realized then and there that his father won. He roped his mother into this, brought Elinore there to see Victor hurting so bad in an attempt to hurt Silas and Silas brought her. As he had always won through her. With every furious jolt of energy in Victor's body, he wanted right then and there to rip the car in half—but not even all the muscle and flesh in the world could grant the flimsy teenager a titan's anger.

So he slumped down in the car—opposite his mother, opposite his father—and the ride home was like that, a perfect equidistant triangle of concern, remorse, and regret.

And it would follow them all the way home.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(Four Years Ago)

"Boo-Ya! Made you fumble!" A fifteen year old Victor Stone shouted.

"Nuh Uh!" Sarah Simms scooped up the football in her hand.

"Well, if you insist!" He grinned like a devil and dove into her.

"ACKKK!" She giggled as he playfully tumbled into her and sent the two sprawling down a grassy knoll in West Park. Behind them, the glistening skyrises of Jump City sparkled in the blue sky. "No fair! No fair! You totally didn't have to do that!'

"What, are you complaining?" He wrestled with her for the ball. "I thought you argued all day that football could be a woman's sport!"

WHUMP! In a second, she dragged his leg out from under him, twirled the two of them over, and got the upper hand. "Hehehe..." She smirked triumphantly down at him. "...you were saying?"

He blinked.

She blinked.

The two of them suddenly did the sane thing and blushed at their predicament. So they disentangled, sat up, and chuckled off the few scant ghosts of cooties.

"Heheheh...You're crazy, girl."

"You're the one who brought the pigskin." She twirled the football in question with two nimble hands and tossed her auburn hair aside. "Your dad's gonna kill you, ya know."

"So what?"

"Well, doesn't he want you to be attending some sort of mathematics seminar right nao?"

Victor smirked. "You give my old man too much credit and me too little." He slid over and smiled close to her. "His son, in all his 'invested genius', reprogrammed the school schedule so he could get into football tryouts."

"Ppfft! You are so impossible!"

"Mmm...Aren't I, nao?"

"Don't press your luck," She stuck her tongue out. "If anything, you're proving you're just as good an egghead as him."

"Ughhhhh!" Victor clutched his heart and fell back into the grass. Fwomp! "You wound meeeee!"

"Awwww...Hehehe...I didn't mean it! C'merrrre..." She slid over on top of him and gave him a dear hug. "Mmmm...So glad you could be here today, Vic."

"..."

Sarah was concerned at his silence. "...Victor?" She got up—

"Shhh..." He put a hand on her shoulder, maintaining the close embrace. "...your heart."

"...What about it?"

"It's got a nice beat to it."

She smiled. "Really, nao?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Most guys like to compliment a girl's eyes...Or her hair." She turned her nose up.

He stroked her chin and smirked. "Can't a guy like a girl's heart?"

"Heh...Gawd." She rolled her eyes. "That's the first rule in the Book, you know."

"Did you write that Book? Cuz it's a good rule." He smiled. "I like your heart, Sarah. I couldn't dance to any other beat."

"Ohhhh Vic..." She sighed and hugged him. "Human to the last."

"Hah...You don't know the half of it."

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(Seventeen Years Ago)

Infant Victor gurgled, a tiny hand clutching Elinore's finger.

She smiled, a warm face, warm moist eyes. Silas leaned in, hugging her from behind as she rocked the little boy in the apex of the family of three. The trio swayed in the center of a dark-lit nursery, the walls dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars and comets.

Until...

A gentle humming, a dip of the fluttering evening, and she lowered the child into the crib, tucking him in with a songbirdish breath and a kiss.

Then, arm in arm, Silas and Elinore drifted out of the room—two photographic sihlouettes in the hallway light—and in a snap they were gone, allowing their son to drift off...

...giggling before a slumbering flight amongst the stars.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

(April 23, 2005...Today)

Nearly through with the Sixth Suite, Cyborg found himself touching down with the gentle ministrations of Madeline's bow against the cello strings. He exhaled long and hard, a thousand glowing embers filtering out of him, dying with the one-eyed blink of yesterday's weight.

Then the bone chilling creak of the moment pierced through the heart of the Vaughan Concert Hall, pricking his ears through the crackle of his communicator:

"Snkkt—Cyborg! Robin here! We've got trouble!"

Victor jumped, nearly pratfalling into a gasping stagehand. He raised his forearm to his lips. "Cyborg here. What gives-?"

"We have an attacker! Somewhere in the building!"

Stargirl's Voice: "Oh my god."

Starfire's: "X'hal!"

Beast Boy's: "Dude, hao in the wide world of sports do you know that-?"

Robin: "No time! Cyborg, you've got the eye! Scan all around you on multiple wavelengths!"

"On it!" Cyborg raised a hand to his red eye and tilted his metal head out, covering the stage, the balconies, the seats, and the rafters with spectrum upon spectrum of visual sweeps. "I swear to God, if someone's trying to take out Maddie-"

Robin: "Snkkt—It isn't Madeline! It's-"

Raven: "Front in center."

Robin: "Cyborg-"

Victor froze. "I see it!" His jaw dropped as a vectral reticule zeroed on a blur of a human figure up in the rafters—and then revealed a hot orb of fiery plasma erupting, sailing, hurdling—straight down, toward the audience, and into the beating heart...

...of Kensuke Kobayashi.

"Dammit—NO!" Cyborg leapt-