The Art of Plotting

Impatience was well known to Koriand'r. It was a trait that she had possessed as a child and it tended to occur at times that something undermined her when such undermining was unnecessary.

She felt that currently it was called for. She had spent an unknown amount of time on this planet and she had yet to gain access to one of its languages needed for communication and understanding. Every opportunity she had spied or come across had been too short-lived to be taken advantage of.

During the last nocturnal phase, she had found the opportunity she had been desiring. It had occurred during an act of violence, one of many that she had found during her exile here. Her...distaste for it caused her to keep her distance, not wanting to become more involved than she had wanted.

Except, she had begun noticing that such acts always left a member of this species vulnerable, enough that she could gain the lip contact she needed. How many times had she thrown her chance to accomplish this vital task before her away because of her discomfort? Most likely too many to count.

Thus, when she had come upon the incident with the oddly dressed male, it had been bizarre enough for her to halt her wanderings and observe. The male himself was young, virile, and on the losing side of the conflict. His opponent, whose only resemblance to this species was bipedalism, had the martial dominance. Time was running out for the young, colorful warrior.

To spare his life would require foreign intervention.

In conclusion, she intervened.

In return, the opportunity she had craved for so long had been literally in her hands. The tight-fitting garment she grasped prevented any escape that the male could seek. All she needed to do was lean her head forward and capture those nubile oral barriers.

For her efforts, she was confronted with frustration and denial, both of which arrived hand-in-hand. The one outcome she had not predicted had developed. At the last second, the male youth had shielded his face and she only met with an odd tasting cloth, which was not the part of the body she needed. There could be no lingual transfer there.

Once more she attempted, the second time was denied her as well. The strange creature whose intent was the termination of the lifeform she held had intervened and that opportunity, the one she was so desperate for, fled. She had called out in her native tongue, pleading with the male to remain while she dealt with this threat to his life for him. Naturally, he didn't understand and with fire detonating under his feet, he took to the skies.

To add further insult, the creature she was fighting also left the field of battle soon after. So she could not purge her frustration on it either. There was a term for this kind of thing on Tamaran, a trokboet. This situation was indeed a trokboet.

From whence came frustration, naturally impatience followed. So much time wasted in ignorance. So much knowledge was around her, but none of it did her any good because she couldn't understand it. A waste it was.

Once she had found herself alone, Koriand'r had ventured back to one of the establishments of nutritional consumption. This one in particular had a habit of serving charred pieces of meat sometimes accompanied with layers of vegetation or dairy byproducts and always with two slices of thick, baked flour dough. She could care less about most of it, but there was this odd, yellow-colored substance embedded in the consumable.

She did not know what this substance was or why it was used. All she knew and cared about was that it tasted fantastic. There was an acidic quality to it that she could not get enough of, and so she typically made her way to any of these eating establishments in the hope of finding more of it.

She was in luck this nocturnal phase. Discarded remains of that day's consumable servings had been placed in the large dumping container behind the establishment. Much to her delight, she found quite the feast of that yellow substance. Hopefully the pleasure from this consumption would calm her enough to think about her next move.

Desperate times were going to call for desperate measures. That much was obvious to her. If this situation continued as it was for any amount of time longer, the risk of ignorance would be outweighed by the risk of exposure to the force that frightened her Gordanian slavers. Resolution in this matter was paramount and any actions she took afterwards were wholly dependent on acquiring the correct language.

This time during the next nocturnal phase of this planet, she will either covertly accomplish her goal or she would reach it no matter the costs. Koriand'r knew which one she preferred, but it seemed as if her choice was being withheld.

It was a good reminder to her that the last time that had happened, she had slain one of those who had taken her choices away from her. A sobering reminder, but one needed to tell her the lengths to which she was capable.

Tim was still ashamed of how he ended things last night. He had run away like a coward, too much afraid for his life than that of the person who had come to his rescue. This was not a high point in his career as a vigilante. In fact, he couldn't remember being ever this low.

Even if she had been trying to force herself sexually on him, that didn't mean whoever she was deserved to die to that guy with the knives for fingers. How would he ever forgive himself for this?

The answer was, he couldn't. That was why he was spending so much time surfing the net, looking for anything on a dead body found in an alley. A part of him was glad that he hadn't found anything yet, but another part warned him that finding nothing meant squat. Remember Sebastian Clark? How long had he lain there until his corpse had been discovered by the Batclan?

An alley was a horrible place to be killed in, especially if no one checked around often. Plus all the crap left in such places could hide the stench of death for some time, until that horrible odor was able to overpower it.

If he wanted to be sure, he was going to have to go back there. However, right now, Tim was feeling very wary of that area. It couldn't be coincidence that he was attacked in front of the place that Barbara herself had picked out to hide his crime fighting stuff. Right now, he had his costume stuffed under his bed, fingers crossed that no one would go looking under it.

In the meantime, as a distraction, the guilt-ridden teen would focus on his real reason to be online. That being that damn fine-looking Amazon chick that had tracked him down last night. The thief with whom he was playing a game of cat-and-mouse with. Only, there was uncertainty of who was the cat and who was the mouse. Well, his turn to be the cat.

And as the cat, he had a starting point: the address he had taken down when he had followed that nameless girl to her base of operations. At least, that was the theory that home was a base. Otherwise, it could be her actual home.

First thing was first, who owed it. A search on the address and who claimed to live there brought up a few names, some living in different cities or states. Okay, refine search to Jump City. How had he forgotten to do that first? Alright, here was something.

Dr. Helena Sandsmark.

Who the hell was that?

A quick Google search gave him something. This Sandsmark lady was an archeologist. Studied under a big name, someone called Julia Kapatelis, and preferring not to go on a search tangent, Tim kept to Sandsmark. Most of the digs she participated in were Greek in nature. When she wasn't at digs, she was the curator of Gateway City's Museum of Antiquities. No wait, she was the former curator. She had left a couple years ago and headed to…

The answer was obvious. Sandsmark was in Jump City, involved with its own big museum that catered to ancient civilizations. Let's bring up a picture of this lady. Nope, not the gorgeous Amazon he faced on with. So who was the girl? Was she someone Sandsmark knew? Someone who was related or a friend? Or was it someone with less than honest intentions, using Sandsmark or staying in her home without her knowledge?

Real quick let's check out Sandsmark's social media. Hmm, alright, here was a post that she was going on another dig. That was dated several weeks ago. Meaning the female Indiana Jones was not in the states. Let's do a quick check on the kind of photos she posted. Obviously, some were going to be related to the dig. Hopefully, he could get a lead from her other postings.

About an hour later, he found something promising. It was a post from about a year ago, but it had Sandsmark with some colleagues of hers. There was also someone else in that photo, a much younger blonde girl. One who bore a resemblance to the thief. So there was a connection, or at the very least they knew one another. By that, knew of each other's existences at the minimum. Let's get a name if he could.

Half an hour later, Tim felt his brain was fried. For some ungodly reason, he could not find a name for this girl who was, in fact, showing up in a few more pictures. Too many to simply be a friendly face. They were acquaintances at the minimum.

But what the hell was her name?

It was like...it was like Sandsmark expected everyone to know who this was. Tim didn't! Why not put in some consideration for a new guy like him?

Crossing his arms and leaning back, Tim blew air through his lips, letting them flop with the forced out exhale. How much of his life had he wasted searching through a social media page? It was like throwing away hours, or brain cells, and he need those! The only way to really know everything to know about this woman through such means was to have been there from the beginning. And he wasn't in the mood to try and backtrack all these posts to her very first ones. For all he knew, those were Selfies, and everyone knew how helpful those were.

Hear the sarcasm there?

How did Barbara do this shit?

Glancing back at his computer screen, the burned out teen's eyes noticed a comments section for each post. Not a lot of comments, and who had the time for that outside of the most diehard fan? Except...didn't fans like that know everything?

Sitting up straighter, he continued that train of thought. If they knew everything, they might let something slip in one of their comments. So to find those little kernels of truth he would have to...read these comment sections.

Fuck.

He had nothing else to go by and he had no idea how Barbara did her searches for information. All Tim could do was make this up on his own because damn it, he did not want to impose on his friend anymore than he already had.

About another half hour later, still nothing. Most of these comments were either inane or so freaking cheerful that the teen became more negative in thought just to compensate for it, and every once in a while there was a troll comment. None of it gave him the information he wanted.

Giving up, the frustrated teen almost threw himself out of his chair. His last hope had not paid out. He was practically out of ideas, and in almost a fit of anger, he had left the current page he had been on, backtracking until he had stopped on a picture of Sandsmark and the thief. Who. Was. This. Person? Seriously!

That picture of the two sitting at a table at some restaurant, both leaning towards one another while holding bits of their respective meals in their hands taunted him. Hell, they were at one of those places that offered outdoor seating too. He had the sudden urge to punch that image, but had to stop himself because he might damage the computer and good luck with getting another one out of his folks.

For a while, his mind went blank, maybe as a way to preserve whatever was left of Tim Drake because all of this was so mind numbing. All the while that picture stared back at him. There was a time when it was all blobs of color, he paying that much attention to it. Then after blinking his eyes and snapping himself back into normal mode, the adolescent began spotting details in the picture.

Specifically, details of the thief. From a glance, she looked like a happy person, enjoying their time with this other person of whom her association with was still in question. Yet she didn't look happy despite the smile. Like, the smile was forced. As in, it was the kind of smile someone slapped on when getting their picture taken. Kids did that all the time because not even they could be happy all the time. And don't get him started on teenagers.

What were the odds they were mother and daughter? That would explain why even though the thief was smiling, she wasn't doing it out of happiness. Well, it was something to check out.

A few minutes later, he hit paydirt.

Cassie. Cassie Sandsmark. That was the thief's name. She was Helena Sandsmark's daughter. And now, Tim knew that. And lookie, lookie, Helena was watching Cassie's social media account, how typical of a parent.

Now that he was going through Cassie's account, he was becoming more and more sure that this was the person he was trying to hunt down. Cassie Sandsmark was that thief in the armor. He was sure of it. The two looked so much like one another, that he was ninety-nine percent certain they were one and the same.

Oh, and look, they...attended the same school? How? Tim was sure he would have noticed her at some point! How did a bombshell like her escape him in a place as boring as school? How?! Good God was he slipping in his observational skills.

Despite never seeing her, the pictures that she posted online always showed her having a good time, hanging out with other people, doing normal stuff. Except, in one image he could see a street sign, one that had the name of the street on it. Now, this was just a hunch, nothing really to go on, but might as well see.

Checking the name of the street and trying to find as close to the location as he could of where the photo was taken, Tim smirked as he saw how close it was in proximity to an address that was well known to him. After all, it was the address of the place he first met her and that didn't happen during the daylight. She was casing the place even as she spent time with her friends, whoever they may be.

This meant that so long as he kept tabs on her through social media, he'd be able to catch her in the middle of one of her heists. So she had an ego to match with her skills. That would be her downfall. All he needed to do was check on her latest posts and see if he couldn't figure out where she was. Then he'd be able to narrow down the area of where her next hit was.

Now he was in his element. Once he could plan out and place a trap, she would be at his mercy, and that would be the end to this investigation. Another crook off the streets.

Then he'd be free up to find whoever was trying to kill him and take them down as well.

Waiting was not one of Garfield's best traits. Like most people, he didn't like to wait. He liked to do, and forget about the consequences.

That last part tended to bite him more times than not.

Waiting was what he had to do, though. Warblade's orders. Windstorm needed to get his jaw fixed and other Ravagers were being brought in for the next big operation thingy. The green-skinned teen couldn't help but be brimming with energy over it. He was a part of something, even if most of the people involved didn't like him.

At least he had Terra. At least she didn't push him away like all the others. Was it any wonder he stuck to her side most of the time? He was a guy who needed to be around others and preventing him from doing that was like...like...like torture or something. Something really, really bad. Yeah.

The two of them were in their barracks again, Terra wanting little, if nothing, to do with the other Ravagers. It didn't matter to her that the orders to put them in this very important group came from Brother Blood himself—and he was a big deal around here, okay—she wanted as much distance between herself and everyone else as possible.

Since she was the only one willing to have him around, that meant he stayed with her even though he really, really, really wanted to try to get to know the other Ravagers better. They were going to be teammates from now on, right? Right. Just like one of those groups of superheroes, you know? There they were, on the front lines, trying to protect what was near and dear to them. And who better to protect than those who had gone out on a limb and taken them all in?

If there was one thing Garfield didn't like, it was owing other people. And he owed Brother Blood for saving him from...whatever it was. He didn't remember and didn't mind if he didn't. The fact that that great man had saved him, thought he was worth saving, it meant so much to the young teen.

Why Terra didn't seem to think the same confused him, but he wasn't about to pry. Why risk making the only person here so uncomfortable with him that she didn't want to be around him? Yeah, not gonna chance that. Nope.

Besides, have you even seen Terra? She was very fine-looking. He didn't think it was obvious but he maybe, kinda sorta, had a...a...you know...a crush...on her. Yeah. That was a thing. She was very pretty, you know. And she smiled at him every once in awhile, and that was a big thing, you know? Well, if you don't, you should.

Also, she was awesome when she started smashing things with her abilities to control the earth. Damn son, she could do some damage! And any girl who could do that was awesome. Right? Right!

So was it any surprise that he tended to open up to her the most? He would to Brother Blood, since, you know, the guy saved him and all, but he was busy. Like, really busy. And Garfield didn't want to bother him too much. Because that would be making a pest of himself.

Even though a lot of people around here said he was already a pest. What did they know?

Anyway, since last night, he had been brimming with energy. It wasn't just in anticipation for tonight. Warblade had a job for him—finally!—and he was eager to do it, but that was only part of it. Okay, most of it. The rest, though, was about something else.

See, he had followed both that guy and the girl from the blood bank, and guess what? He had followed them all the way to the girl's house! At least, he thought it was the girl's house. Could be anyone's really. Thing was, he hadn't told Warblade or any of the Ravagers, or even Brother Blood, about it. And he needed to tell someone. Because he was kinda bad at keeping secrets, not that he would tell anybody that.

Who better to tell than Terra? She would listen to him, right? And she wouldn't judge him too badly for not saying anything about it earlier, right?

Right?

So, he told her.

"Why didn't you mention that earlier?" Terra had said after a moment of silence, her eyes wide as saucers. The quiet that followed was ominous, as if all hell was about to unleash itself if one wrong move was done or said. Only a blind man would not be able to see how severe this could be.

For someone like Garfield, he was able to see it as well as a man trying to read a book twenty-five miles away and looking in the wrong direction.

"I was kinda put on the spot and I, uh, I guess I...forgot?" He scratched the back of his boyishly, adding an uncertain chuckle at the end of it.

After a moment, "Gar, whatever tolerance Warblade had for me, I used up defending you last night. If he ever finds out about it, we're both going to be in for it—HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID?!"

Flinching back, the green-colored teen bunched up his shoulders and lowered his head, completely taken by surprise. Terra looked really, really mad and it was all directed at him. He had never seen her like this and was it him or was everything beginning to shake—oh crap it was!

"Terra, easy there," he tried to calm her down. He raised a hand up but pulled it back slightly, unsure if she would be able to handle it. Her eyes were almost purely yellow, which in itself was frightening because that meant she was really dipping into her powers. She must really be worried or mad or, or, or, okay he couldn't think of anything else she could be feeling. Feelings weren't his strong point, not really.

However, as if realizing her control was slipping, the blonde-haired girl got a grip and began taking in long, deep breaths, calming herself. Garfield watched, not daring to breathe himself because damn, for once he had made her mad. Not that she went around making him mad or anything. It was just that other people seemed to do that to her, never him. This was a very new experience for him.

"Garfield." Oh no, she was using that name, his full name. "I'm only going to tell you this once. What you told me you can't tell anyone else. Do you understand?" The tone of voice she used was so soft, almost a whisper that at the same time was so sharp it could slice someone in half if they weren't careful.

Garfield was never one to be careful either.

"Why?"

"Do you know how many people here would love to catch the two of us fucking up here? You forgetting to report such important intel like knowing where one of those people we're suppose to kill lives is a very important piece of information that should have been mentioned a long time ago. Like before I came to your rescue when you told our glorious leader you did not pick a fight with your target. That would have been a great time to tell him that."

Now that she mentioned it, that was a very good point. Huh, why hadn't he thought of that?

"And now, he thinks that you're incompetent enough to the point that you can't follow orders. At all. You, me by proxy, are on thin ice right now, and all it will take is one wrong move and we both go down. End of story," Terra finished explaining, learning towards him and getting closer and closer with each word she said. By now, their faces were close, like inches away. Never had her willingly get her face that close to his. Like ever.

"But Brother Blood wouldn't let him—" he tried to argue only for Terra to interrupt him.

"There's only so much that Blood will do to protect us, and right now, this is not covered by that. He finds out you withheld important information, whatever Warblade will do to you will be a walk in the park compared to what Blood will do."

A frown creased the green male's face. "But Brother Blood saved me, us. Both of us! Why would he try to hurt us for a mistake? I genuinely forgot. I'm sorry. I don't do well when I get put on the spot like that." Okay, even to him that last part sounded like he was whining.

"Gar, I've told you before that I don't trust that guy, even if he did...save me. Save the both of us. I just got this feeling. Like he's keeping us around because he has some use for us, some use neither of us know and once we stop being useful, he'll get rid of us." It was a little hard to tell because of the short distance between their faces, but Terra really looked worried about this.

"But isn't that what we need to do? To repay him for all he's done for us?" Garfield felt the need to ask.

"I don't know about you, but having us go out to bring back fresh blood does not sit well with me," Terra admitted.

And Terra told him she got queasy about it. Odd thing was, so did he, but he had never voiced that out, not even to her. At least, one of them needed to be the strong one and since Terra did so much for him already, he figured this was one time he needed to bite the bullet. Since they both had problems with getting fresh blood, it had been his idea to go for a blood bank because that place had to have a lot of fresh blood, right? Right, that was what his logic told him.

"It's a little weird, but we owe him. We have to pay him back. That's what people do, right?" He felt like he really needed to press this point home. He had no idea why either, but it felt important enough for him to do.

"Gar, one of these days I'll have paid him back and then I'm gone. I don't want to be around here, especially with a guy like Warblade being one of Blood's favorites," Terra replied.

Well, okay, he had to give that one to her. There was something about the leader of the Ravagers that even put him on edge, and he liked to be around people.

"And I hope on that day, you'll come with me too," Terra added, finally pulling her face away from his, but grabbing his hand all the same. "You're the only person I like being around this place with and...I guess I'd miss you too much. So…"

Now that she was putting it that way, it was tempting. Really. And he also liked being around her too.

"So please, keep what you told me to yourself. Don't even think about it, alright? We keep our heads down, do what we need to do, and when we've done all we can to pay Blood back, we can leave with a clean slate. Okay?" Terra finished, squeezing his hand now.

Boy, he could stare into those blue eyes for...for a long time. "Okay," he said, or that might have slipped out of his mouth without his consent. Hard to know. His face was really warm and it felt like his heart was hammering in his chest. Was it hot in here suddenly? When did that happen?

"Say it right," Terra insisted. "Promise me."

"I...I promise," he finally said.

"Good," the slighter girl said, her lips curving into a very pretty smile and making her look all the better for it.

The idea of leaving didn't seem so bad anymore.

Warblade had left the ankle-biters out intentionally. This was for the pros, and no matter what Blood wanted, the Ravagers were his team. Only the best and only the ones worthy of the honor were true Ravagers.

To make up for what little the rookies had so far offered, he had summoned two others of his elite team to join. The first was an addition of brawn that was sorely needed on the team. A giant among those who were assembled, Two pairs of muscular arms were crossed over some impressive looking pecs and a rack of abs. Instead of the normal two eyes one would expect, four white eyes stared stoically from a not too pretty face.

As if not caring for clothes, all this professional Ravager wore was a pair of torn up pants and nothing else. Most likely to show off that body that made the knife-happy leader a little jealous. Okay, a lot jealous.

And of course, his name was Goliath.

Pretty much summed up this four-armed hulk.

The other was a really special one. His ace in the hole. A person that Brother Blood had pulled all the stops to obtain if only because what she was capable of was much too valuable to leave alone. Femme Fatale did not do her justice, though she had the curves, the dark wavy wave that covered one sharp, brown eye, and an ample bosom that invited all to...squeeze. She was a good fighter, was almost up to his skill.

However, it wasn't her fighting abilities that made her so coveted by Blood. No, it was what she could do with a touch. Even now it was unknown how she did this, but by a simple touch of her skin, she could kill you. A bad date in a pretty package if there ever was one. To this day, though, he wondered why she was called Wanderer. It made sense to her, but to him he was lost.

Well, she could call herself whatever she wanted because there was no arguing with that kind of power.

Even if the ankle-biters held them back, there was no way that the Ravagers would be returning empty handed. A glance towards the haughty for no reason Phobia and then to a pissed off Windstorm who's broken jaw was now fixed up concluded his quick examination of them.

It was now seven to four.

Five of that seven were gathered in his personal quarters, where he could keep this as secret as possible. The two new additions had taken the only chairs in here, forcing the rest to stand up. Neither he nor Windstorm minded, but Phobia sure did since she was holing herself up in a corner, sending dark looks to the sitting pair. It made him want to laugh, but he didn't. Still, he smiled at it, said smile hidden by his mask that he hadn't taken off.

"Wanderer, Goliath, glad you could join us. Our mutual Brother has given us an important job to do. He wants four dead and he wants them dead as soon as possible. And we're going to be the ones to make him happy," Warblade declared.

"Who are the marks?" the accented voice of Wanderer spoke, bringing them down to business. He had no idea what kind of accent it was, it sounded Spanish but not quite. Though her tone was flat, you could hear anticipation in it.

"Two guys, two girls. One broke Windstorm's jaw and he's not happy about it. Another was able to break Phobia's little spell, so they're not going to be easy. Thanks to the resident green bean, all I know about the third is that she can fight animals. The last one is barely a threat. Had it not been for a freaky chick, he'd be dead and I wouldn't have called for you two."

Warblade could feel Goliath direct those four soulless eyes on him. "You have already failed," the giant stated.

"Not for long," the Ravager leader corrected. "They can't hide from us forever. We will find them again."

"Oh yes, but how?" Phobia just had to pipe up. "How do you intend to find them once more?"

There was a "oh glorious leader" left unsaid, but he knew she was mocking him.

She was going to regret it, especially when he put her on the spot. "How did that one target break your illusion again? Do tell."

The arrogant bitch's eyes narrowed more than they already were, glaring at him. "She got lucky," she said snappishly.

"I don't care that she did it, but how she did it. Was it some kind of special ability or was it magic?" Warblade pressed her for more detail.

"The only thing that could break my illusions would have to be magic," Phobia stated haughtily. "And since I wasn't expecting it, it is only natural that she was able to break it as easily as she did."

"And would you remember what that kind of magic felt like?"

The twit who thought she was better than everyone paused as she considered the question. After a moment, she answered in a more normal tone of voice, "I might be able to. There was something about that magic that…it doesn't feel like normal magic. It's like its own kind, one of a kind even."

Now to go in for the kill, metaphorically. "And is there a chance you could follow it back to its source, even after all the time that has been passed since it was first casted?"

Now she was biting her pretty little lip, a nasty habit for a gal of her looks to do. Definitely a sign that he had taken her out of her element. "Theoretically…"

"None of that," he interrupted. "Can you or can you not find her by her one of a kind magic? Yes or no?"

"I would need to return to the site where the magic was first cast, but it should be doable," Phobia finally gave him a straight answer, though she didn't look happy at him forcing her hand.

"Good, if those two stuck together, we'll be able to find two of the four," the Ravagers' leader announced.

"I can't wait," Windstorm growl, punching a fist into the palm of his other hand. "I owe that asshole a jaw and several broken bones."

"Actually, I want Goliath on that one. He has the strength and durability to handle what that guy will dish out," Warblade stated.

"He's mine!" Windstorm fired back, snarling.

"You were calling for my help after one hit. Goliath would be a better match," Phobia agreed, surprising the masked leader but not for long. No, she was trying to get a reaction, touting how inferior someone else was.

"You stay out of it," Windstorm turned on the bitch.

"It's final," Warblade ordered. "Now before we get into a pissing contest, let's go over the other two."

"Do you have any ideas on how to locate these targets?" Wanderer asked, ensuring that the planning session stayed on track.

At first, he was going to say no, he didn't, did any of you guys have any ideas? Before he could, the proverbial light bulb turned on in his head.

"I have the inklings of one," he said slowly, trying to make it work in his head.

"Oh, do tell," Phobia said mockingly.

"The ankle-biters had a shot at them once," he continued, ignoring the barb. "One of them turns into animals. He'll be able to sniff them out…"

"And bring us to them," Wanderer finished for him.

Warblade wanted to say yes, but he stopped himself. "No, other way around."

"Huh?" Looks like he lost Windstorm. Then again, thinking was not his strength.

"He's met those two before. What are the odds he could bring them to us?" Warblade asked aloud. "If he can piss them off enough that they don't think, we can get them into an ambush."

"Strike them down before they can defend themselves," Wanderer again summed up for him. He definitely had her interest now.

"If we do it right, we can herd them together in one place then go all out, no holding back, and kill them all. Heh. Looks like those ankle-biters might be able to pull their weight around for once."

Author's note: Wanderer and Goliath are both DC characters, they've part of a group called the Council of Spiders, which ShadowMajin introduced me to. And surprise, surprise, Tim Drake was the lucky person who had to deal with them. So, to round out the Ravagers squad, I've appropriated them. Now things should get really interesting next chapter.