A/N:

First and foremost. I'd like to thank RPGPersona for his hard work in making this update so much better as the Betareader. I really appreciate it. You kick ass.
If you find this chapter easy to read through, be sure to thank him guys and galls. He did an amazing job.

I'd also like to take a moment to thank the reviewers since the last update.

Anon 87, Thank you for your kind reply. I'm glad you like Rouge, I enjoy her as a character myself. I'm glad I could glue you. And that came out wrong.

JasonVUK, always good to see you buddy! Glad you caught up. Thank you so much for your comment.

Psychoninjawolf, You have a great imagination. Never let anyone tell you different :). I'm always glad to read your comments. And this one definitely did not dissapoint.

RPGPersona, I also want to thank you, not as my Beta, but as a reviewer. Your reviews have always given me so much to think about and have as such helped me quite a bit. Thank you for this great one.

Mag2k, thank you for once more dropping your two cents. We don't celebrate thanksgiving here. But I am thankful for your review! I hope you have a good 2017 :). I like your questions, but I don't think I should just answer them all. Some will show their way throughout the story. I will tell you this, I'm trying to imply that seeing as Rouge is mind-controlled her own intelligence and creativity and resourcefullness is a bit diminished. As such she doesn't think or even fight at the full of her capacity.

Fallouttitan, I remember your previous reply's. I liked them too, as I like this one. Thank you so very much for your kind words. They meant a lot.

GGjmmb, I'll admit, I'm a little bit lost on just what your suggestion is. Sorry. But I appreciate you taking the time and effort to comment. Thank you!

Also, my gratitude to the new 4 favoriters/followers of the story!


Chapter 43: Curse of the Wendigo

Alternate title: Mathieu Missoffe


The Batman left the room with Hush behind him. He had more urgent things to take care off. Dulmacher was still on the run. But he wouldn't get far. As Thomas Elliot hadn't been the one with the laptop, Francis had to be carrying it with him. Unbeknownst to him, trying to keep a hold on his company's dark secrets would be the end of him. Bruce would still be able to track the signal. And so he reactivated the tracker on his arm. If the mad scientist was still in the underground hospital, he'd have him in no-time. And even if he wasn't, there would be no place to run.

Without warning a voice boomed through the hallways. He'd barely taken two turns before the voice screamed through the boomers. "We have a 15.15!" It shouted. "I repeat: a 15.15! They're out! Everybody arm..." It fell silent for a short second before returning. The batman wouldn't have believed it to be in more distress, though it was. "No!" It shouted. "Stay away! Stay Aw..."

The man on the intercom never finished his sentence. All that the Bat could hear for the longest time was a horrid screaming. It eventually turned into a death-rattle which grew so weak that before long he could hear an intense, almost animal-like breathing coincide with it. And then, that was all that was left. Whatever made that sound left the control-room with a shriek.

He cursed Hush silently for unleashing these 'playmates' or 'sideprojects'; whatever they were. He had a feeling he'd run into them soon too. He thought he could hear them too. But then again, all the commotion in the underground hospital was rising. It were the sounds of fear and disorganized attempts to flee and survive. He knew them by heart. Dealing them out was what he did. In less than two minutes nurses, doctors, patients and even night's guardsmen were cluttering the narrow hallways.

Disorganized as they were, they all seemed to scramble in more or less the same direction. He made a note of that as he went against the grain. He did his best to recognize all their faces; corrupt mob-bosses, hitmen, judges and politicians, masked nurses and low-life thugs for guards. All scrambled past him. Some didn't even seem to notice him as they screamed and ran in pure panic. Most of the more perceptive ones froze, seeming to consider running back the other way. But seeing their fellow rats scurry off and right past him, they did the same. The Bat didn't have time for all of them. He wished he would, but there was a lot at stake. His built-in camera would have to do; in a few nights he'd find the time to identify each and every one of them that didn't have his or her face hidden.

The few night's guardsmen that did try something met his wrath full on. One charged at him with a baton. Knocking him off balance, making him drop the weapon and slamming him against the wall took little effort. And if the thug had been counting on back-up, he'd been sorely mistaken. All the others seemed to double their pace, eager to leave behind both the Bat and Francis' sideprojects.

Another pulled a gun. That had been trickier. Any other given moment he would've simply used his grappling hook to pull the weapon from his hands . Or used one of his birdarangs to destroy it. In the crowded, narrow hallways, however he didn't have the room to throw the latter. And trying the former risked the gun going off and hitting one of the running rats. And monsters they may be, but he wasn't going to have any of their deaths on his conscience. So before the man could fully-well aim, he ducked into a side-room. The only one's who remained in the awfully lit room were two bed-ridden patients. And only one of them seemed to barely be conscious. Though the old man's eyes did focus on the fight that ensued when the guard chased the Dark Knight. It had been a foolish move, swept up in the adrenaline of this fight-or-flight moment. Bruce was quick to use the shadows and movement-space to his advantage; tackling him to the ground with relative ease and, when he refused to let go of his sidearm, break his real arm. He dismantled the gun in seconds before leaving the grunting, squirming man on the floor. He could've knocked him out, but with whatever it was they were fleeing from set loose, the humane thing to do seemed to be to let as few of them as possible remain inside.

By the time the scuffle had ended, most of the stampede had passed. Far off he could hear maniacal laughter, unrecognizable screams of rage and all to recognizable screams off agony. And as his tracker told him, that was his way to go too.

With no more oncoming traffic, he could pick up his pace. He heard a gunshot, close by. And another one. Very close now. Accompanied by screams of fear.

He turned a corner and at the far end of the hall saw a guard back up against a wall; facing another hallway. Even this far off, the Batman could tell he was extremely petrified. His arm shook; outstretched with a gun going 'click', 'click', 'click'.

The shape that emerged from the other hallway was fast. And wrong. It took the sprinting Batman an important second to comprehend. A second the thug guard did not have. Before the Wayne heir could even grab his grappling hook, four blades pinned the poor criminal to the wall. He couldn't even shout as the life went out of him.

The creature was humanoid. But whether or not to still call it human was up for philosophical debate. It wore ragged clothing; strips and bandages over it's deformed body. It seemed like two torso's knit together. One sporting a head covered in scars with mismatched patches of skin and four arms. The added limbs were to be found right under the standard ones. Also covered in scars where they'd been attached. Though nothing was standard about them, or the 'standard arms. There were no hands. And somewhere halfway on each lower arm, a huge, sharp blade came forth. He could see them well as he pulled them out of the guard and the walls, allowing the fallen man to slump to the ground. They were covered in red. And the lower torso, which was kept horizontally behind the upper, had four different legs. The shamble cloth hid it's nakedness. But the extensive scar-tissue was obvious.

By the time it turned it's attention to him, the bat had closed much of the gap and drawn his grappling hook and smoke pellets to booth. It shrieked at him, with one red eye and one black, hidden behind the upper half of a porcelain doll's mask. Two tongues and shark-like teeth. And then it rushed forward too; running at him full speed.

When it got close enough, it got a face full of smoke as the pellets exploded on his head. The bat, without slowing down, slid underneath the creature, passing between the four legs. In doing so he fired his grappling hook amidst the four blindly swinging arms and blades. Luckily it landed. He rose behind the raging creature. It screamed madly, and attempted to kick him with it's hind legs. It succeeded too. The Bat spun due to the impact, but the monster's right arm, bound by the cord, was tugged with; leaving them both in an unstable position. And though he had nothing on the strength of four, muscly arms or on the speed of four trained legs. But he was much better at using tactical advantages, it seemed. Which allowed him to leap over the creature's lower body and swing the grappling hook's cord over it's left arms, binding them together in seconds. It's third free arm made a swing for him, but only managed to skewer his cape. Next came the sharp teeth, proving that this thing, once a person, had more killer instinct than intelligence. A smarter fighter would've cut the rope apart. But this thing just longed to murder: right now.

He danced away from the sharp teeth, tangling up the final arm in the process. And after binding them tighter, and tighter still, he yanked them; causing it to trip on it's feet. Those were the next to be hogtied, as it lay it's back; squirming with the strength of two men. And finally when all it's limbs were taken care off, Bruce was free to knock it out with a few blows to it's monstrous head. Just enough 'till it closed it's eyes.

Only then did he allow himself a breather; looking down at his bloody work. This was sick. What kind of man could see this as a 'side-project'? To take lives and destroy them utterly. To take them apart, as if for spare parts. And to build and craft this new, twisted life-form? What kind of monster did Dulmacher have to be, to create these mindless, monstrous, murderous drones? These misshapen dolls for evil.

He felt sick to his stomach. And in the deepest corner of his soul, he would have to admit he considered breaking his own rule; to sink to the level of those he fought. To end a life.

The creature before him had been human once. In fact, it had been up to six or eight humans, judging by the body-parts used. But what of humanity remained in it? It would forever be a freak. A monster. Tortured into insanity. Broken by the evil done to it and as some perverse jigsaw puzzle; put back together but darker and wicked. What life was there for such a being? What good or happiness could it possibly still discover and experience? Was it not kinder, more humane, to end it here? Rather than to allow it's existence to continue? But equally deep down inside, as he pitied the being at his feet, he knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it.

Ultimately he was pulled from his ponderings by eerie laughter. Looking up from the disaster on the floor, he found a new one shambling towards him. Down the hallway, underneath flickering light, a barbie-doll straight out of hell shambled towards him, laughing maniacally all the way.

Her hair was disheveled. She sported a prosthetic left leg. Her outfit was like a halloween costume for a nurse, but covered in black and red goo. Her right arm starting at the wrist was but a buzz-saw. More of the goo dripping off it and landing on the floor. Closer and closer with each unsteady step she took. It was hard to judge her age. As her face had been so filled with botox that it resembled plastic. Her eyes remained perpetually open through some metal clamps, which also kept her smiling eternally.

"I can help you if you let me." He called out, knowing he wouldn't get a real reply.

And indeed, all he got was laughter and the buzz-saw starting up.

He resigned himself with sadness and a growing hatred for Francis Dulmacher in his heart. He took two batarangs, one in each hand and charged.


What a turn of events this was. Where life had been full of emotional turmoil and psychological pain, David found death finally pushed all of that aside. If only because it was substituted. Physical pain reigned supreme in this new form of existence. He was drifting in darkness, hurting all over. His leg especially hurt, as did his lungs. He'd never known internal organs could feel like they were on fire. And yet his lungs burned. The intensity of the flame enough to leave the agony and strain in the rest of his limbs seem like nothing much in comparison. Though their constant drain on his strength was there.

If this was death, he wanted it to be over quick. There had to be something he could do against the inferno in his chest. He fought and fought. And then fought some more. If there had been anything that his life had taught him, it was to cling and fight for every scrap. To never give up. And to be even more relentless than the shitty world around you.

He rose above. Left death behind him and crawled his way back into the world; cold, wet and screaming. Like a newborn. He was out of breath, feeling like he'd fall back into fainting any second. But first the water in his lungs had to be expulged. It came naturally and it came for far too long.

Lying on his side, the last of the liquid escaped his body. His throat and lungs hurt so bad and he felt so weak that even breathing seemed like a herculean task. Somehow he managed. And as the cold air ravaged his abused airways, the pain it inflicted was amongst the sweetest sensations he'd ever felt.
He lay there, coughing, trying to catch his breath, for what seemed like an eternity. He was shivering. Numb and tingly in his fingers and toes. But felt daggers of ice everywhere else. When he finally managed to wipe the tears from his eyes, he collected himself enough to have a look around.
As he checked out his bleak surroundings, his fingers travelled to his face. He tried to check if he remembered correctly; the fall, the wendigo, the chase, the cabin, the wounds on his face. Though he couldn't feel them with numb fingers, the blood sticking to the tips of his hands proved the tears were indeed there. Looking past them, he saw he was in a cave of sorts. On a muddy bank, his legs still half in water. The water surrounding them was dark. All of it was dark, to be sure. But it seemed worse there. He did his best to ignore the pain and dragged himself, on his side, out of the water. Inch by inch. As his left leg was uncovered, he could see the gash running over his calf. He groaned. By the rate the blood flowed, he could tell no major artery had been hit. But still, this was very bad news.
He dropped to his back, feeling the cold soil beneath him. Above him was mostly rock and boulder. As there was everywhere but for the bank and the water. Only here and there, high above a few holes and cracks that let in just a bit of light. The eye of the storm seemed to be passing above the caverns. A few of the beams hit the body of water which reflected the weak light. So now at least he could see his new tomb of shadows.

Mustering all of his effort, he sat upright. And with shaking hands, he tore the wet, ripped pants; freeing his bleeding leg. For all it was worth, he used the soaked strips to bandage the wound. His moans and groans echoed through the caverns. When the job was finished, he still felt as lost and defeated as he had before.

That is, until a small shift in the light made him look to a shape further down the bank. Through darkness and shadows, he believed he saw it. It's antlers. Unmistakeable. The wendigo lay ashore further down the bank. The current had brought them both up in this dark place.

David's rifle was nowhere to be found. But he took out his hunting knife soon enough. And as numb as he was, his heart frantically pumped adrenaline into his being as he crawled towards the huge, seemingly sleeping beast. It lay with it's back to him.

He couldn't see it move. Not even as he got closer and closer to it. But he couldn't take the risk. He couldn't let it live. Not now. Not now that he was so close.
Schelde's legs protested as he dragged himself through the sludge and mud that was the bank. And he could barely feel the large knife in his cold hand. But he persisted, dragging himself elbow per elbow. Always closer.
And when he got close enough, there was no hesitation. There would never be. Never again. The knife plunged straight through the back of the monster's neck. There was no scream. There wasn't even a convulsion; an involuntary twitch. Now that he was so close, all there was, was the smell. And it was enough to make him hurl. He turned the beast around and only now found that it had been there for a long, long time. It's flesh, whilst always undead, now rotten. It's eyes completely gone. The body seemed to come undone as he flipped it. Seemingly held together by mold. It's teeth bare as the rest of the muscles on it's face had retracted. It was as ugly as he remembered. And if he lived long enough, he was sure it could keep on haunting his nightmares.

The cave had been cold and would have kept all manner of scavengers at bay. But time had done it's work. It had been here for decades. This was not the same beast he'd tumbled down with. Not the same that had clawed at him as they rushed down the river.

He tried to think straight. Seeing the Wendigo again after all those years had knocked the sense right out of him. One moment he'd been reliving his past in the cabin. The next; a blurry of hate, fury and running. If this wasn't the wendigo he'd fought, where had it come from? And where was the one he'd faced earlier in the cabin? It had to be here somewhere. It had to be.

Though he wasn't sure he was doing it, he tried to tighten his grip on the handle of his knife as he scanned his surroundings. That's when he saw it. Even further down the bank, another heap. Determination filled his heart once more, screaming at his brain to stay quiet. He wanted to finish this. He wanted his pound of flesh. And any doubts about this situation his mind was trying to make clear would have to take a back-seat for this.

Once again he crawled through the dark. The knife held tight in his numb hands. The hypothermia would soon grab complete hold of him. But he could do this. He could still make this one difference. Blind to anything but his thirst for vengeance, he inched his way closer and closer to the second shape. And in wanting to be certain he released all of his pent up anger on the right target this time, he spun it around before plunging down the knife.

But the shape he rolled over was enough to knock the breath out of him. It's face was unrecognizeable. Just like with the corpse of the wendigo, it had rotted. Brown and purple mold covered it sickeningly. But he could remember that golden tooth. And those clothes. Those clothes, they brought him back to the last night he'd seen them.

"Poppop." He spoke softly.
The knife dropped from his hands. And he was shaking for a whole new reason. What was this hell he'd woken up in? His hands moved gingerly over the clothed chest of the cold corpse? He could feel every rib underneath. He took the dead man's skeletal hands in his own, and squeezed.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But found he couldn't. He sagged. Unable to do anything but try to process it all. His eyes drifted over to the dead wendigo he'd stabbed.

Dead. Both had been dead. For a long time.

He started hyperventilating.

He felt confused. And robbed. And no less angry then he'd been these last six decades. But now, his rage had lost focus; turned into a haze of fury consuming himself. And he felt sad. More sad than he had in a long time. He'd always had his demons haunt him. But they were once again as strong as that first night in the cabin.

The cabin. It hadn't just been the wendigo he'd faced in the cabin. That much was clear. He tried his best to get his mind out of the fog of hate. He had to keep a clear mind. He had to get the situation clear; get rid of the cloak of vengeance blinding him. His eyes found his grandfather's rifle, not far from his body. He reached out and clung to it. Clung to it for dear life and sanity.

Focus. That's what he needed. Focus.

A movement caught his eye. Drawing itself from the water, not too far off, was a shape. He squinted, and found it to be a skinny woman. In the limited lighting it was hard to tell, but he ventured her dress to be red. Her haircut was short and drenched. Her arms and legs covered in a protective black fabric that he guessed did nothing to keep the cold out.
While his first reaction was to help her, despite him not even being able to properly help himself, he quickly disbanded that idea when she rose. In her eyes he saw nothing of life. He wasn't even sure if her eyes saw anything.

As she walked closer, not towards him, but on a course to go past him, he noticed the chest sticking from her abdomen. It was the anchor to bring him back to reality. He understood the situation completely now and raised the old rifle in his hands automatically.

For the first time since their resurface, the woman seemed to notice him. Even if it was barely paying him any attention. She froze and her lifeless eyes turned to him.

He pulled the trigger.

Click. The gun echoed oh so softly.

What had he been expecting? The rifle had been through hell and been left unattended for over half a century.

The woman turned her gaze away and walked pas him, ignoring him completely. He set the rifle aside as he heard her steps behind him. He wasn't even a threat. He wasn't even worth killing.
Something snapped inside. Like hitting rock bottom and realizing the only way is up. Despite his protesting body, he drew himself up to his feet. The knife was in his hand. And he held it in a sturdy fashion. No longer was he shaking. He spat blood and saliva into the dark water. And turned to face the fading woman as she walked deeper into the dark, vast cavern. Limping and moving awkwardly, he chased after her, faltering step after faltering step. He grunted. Bit back the agony. He felt his battered bones and his torn skin, nerves and muscle. They were with him always. But they were just another kind of pain, and he'd learned to live with pain. A new man, be it a half one, he'd risen above the internal screaming of his flesh. He'd been a lost soul. But now, as he left the small world of agony and suffering behind him, ignoring it completely, he'd found a new reason to go on. His fingers clenched harder and harder still around the knife's handle as he staggered after her. With it in his hand and his eye one the red figure walking away from him, he knew he could carve himself out a new purpose.


Raven felt a surge go through her. Suddenly and unexpected. She'd been scanning, focussing, searching. And it had been frustrating not to sense anything but her friends up 'till now.

"Stop." She commanded.

Starfire, who'd been holding Nightwing along with her did as she was bid. They hovered over the crashing, wild river.
The boy she'd known most of her life as Robin reaffirmed his grip on David's rifle as he asked. "You feel something?"

"Yeah." She answered, letting the emotion flow over her. Her eyes went to the stone wall of boulders towering over the river. She could sense it just behind it. It came from somewhere inside.

It was powerful enough to be contagious. Overwhelming even.

Determination.

She sensed nothing but pure determination.


Cyborg was slightly annoyed by his younger, green friend. Oh, yes, he understood the boy's plight and anxiety. He too had grown fearful for his comrades after the chaotic call by their leader. But he tried to look on the bright side. They'd received Raven's message, hadn't they? They'd catch up with them soon enough.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" The changeling wailed.

His girlfriend's text clearly hadn't put his mind at ease.

A lady's texts hardly ever did, in Cyborg's experience.

Truth was the aircraft could go faster. But the gas had done a real number on the internal integrity of the wiring. And pushing the motor's could be dangerous in the short run. He knew it to be destructive in the long run for certain.

"Not without stressing the system." He replied, trying to remain cool as he steered the craft towards the signal of their friends.

Soon enough, he told himself. They'd be there soon enough.
"But they need us now!" The green lad complained.

Cyborg was about to reply. To tell him his girlfriend was tougher than nails and that if anybody ought to be scared, it was their enemies. But the large explosion up ahead stopped him before he could even begin. The dust and smoke rose from the devastation. It was exactly where their teammates were, according to the locater.

"Dude." Beast Boy breathed aghast, next to him.

Cyborg pulled a lever.

The system found itself stressed.


Raven held the boy tightly by the wrist. As Nightwing dangled underneath her, clutching David's rifle, she had a feeling the both of them had the same look of awe.

The blast had been impressive, especially seeing as how thick the layers of rock and boulder had been. And Starfire's heaving and heavy breathing was thus more than understandable. As the dust settled and she could see just what havoc the alien had dealt to the canyon's side, Raven found he could only say one thing.

She whispered it to the boy hanging on for dear life.

"Always make sure you stay on her good side."

"Noted." His reply came.

The hole loomed before them now. Dark and uninviting.

So they invited themselves.

Starfire was clearly exhausted, panting as they entered. Even though it had been dark outside, it still took the young witch a few moments to adjust to the lack of light inside the cavernous hole. When she did however, they quickly located a place to land and survey the large chamber. It didn't take her long to spot the two either. One flowing with a single emotion, overloading her senses. The other, brainwashed and thus the opposite; a void.

"Took you long enough." The old grump said hoarsely.

As they rushed for him, they never took their eyes off Rouge who, using the new light of the giant hole scanned her surroundings for a way out.

Starfire even tried to blast her. But she was tired by the previous effort. And in any case, Rouge as always was well protected. The giant rubber wall made of her fist was quick to respond, leaving any laser-projectiles inefficient.

"Raven." Nightwing spoke as they neared the old man. "David." He said nudging towards him.

She could see why. Covered in filth and blood, the man had gashes on his face and on his leg. By all accounts, as a healer, she knew he shouldn't even be standing right now. Luckily nobody had informed him of that.

"The gun." He spoke solemnly, ignoring her attempts to check his bleeding gashes.

"What?" A pressed Nightwing keeping one eye on Rouge, just like everyone else, asked.

"The gun." David repeated. "Now."

A slither caught their attention, as Rouge turned into a more liquid form of herself. Raven halted her attempts to heal the stubborn fool; watching with fear in her heart as the shapeshifter slide through a narrow slit in the walls.

Yet the metal chest clanged, just unable to pass through. It clanged again as she tried to force it through, but was unsuccessful. Her shape reemerged soon enough. If Rouge had been herself, Raven was sure she could have sensed either her embarrassment or her frustration. Now there was nothing. To an empath it was most strange; having one sense tell you the person was there and the other denying it wholly.

By now David was no longer looking at any of them. He had his arm outstretched, seemingly barely capable of standing, and had his focus entirely on the villain.

"I won't repeat myself." He said.

Yet Nightwing did not hand over the rifle. Raven agreed. David was a civilian. And in here, especially wounded as he was, a liability. He didn't need a gun. He needed an evacuation and immediate medical attention.

She took his arm gently and urged: "Come on."

She found herself wishing Beast Boy and Cyborg were here to help.

When the old man wrung his arm free, she felt quite useless. Sometimes it was a terrible thing to be an empath. Especially when she'd been relying on her powers extra hard.

"Friends." Starfire started, catching her attention. The girl was staring up a ledge on a far wal of the cavernous chamber. "If that is the villain Rouge..." She started.

Despite better judgement, Raven tore her gaze away from 'the villain Rouge' for a second, following her friend's stare.

"Then who is that?" The orange alien finished.

Raven didn't have to preoccupy with Rouge. All eyes were on the figure by now. Silent and menacing, it was a shape much like the one they'd seen the shape-shifter take. Tall, strong and undead. Sharp claws and even sharper teeth. The stag's antlers on its demonic predatory head unmistakable. And after it leapt down to their level, the wendigo roared monstrously.

From the corner of her eye Raven could see David blindly force the rifle out of Nightwing's hand.

Shrieking and threatening the beast advanced closer to both villain and heroes. Seemingly it was deciding which prey to feast on first. The drool slathered from its long mouth like a waterfall.

"Well, at least things can't get much worse." Raven heard her leader exasperate.

She groaned, feeling like this was one of those moments the universe loved a challenge and donned its best, ironically ironed suit. Even men who didn't believe in such things were wise not to tempt their luck with such cliches. In the worst possible way; she was not disappointed.

Before their very eyes, Rouge changed shape. The transformation seemingly caught the true wendigo off guard. And before long its red eyes fell upon a creature just like itself. For a moment, it seemed confused. But when the fake Wendigo roared to the cave's ceiling, the real one found itself answering.

As one, Famine and its demon turned their gazes towards the titans.

"Let's be smart about this." Robin mouthed carefully somewhere to her side.

A blast rang out. Even with her focus going to the two wendigos in front of them, Raven, after seeing the real one scream after its arm was grazed, couldn't help but turn her attention to the commotion to her left. Unbalanced and weak, the shot had knocked David firmly on his backside.

Furious, the monster advanced; its howl the stuff of nightmares. Madame Rouge followed its twin.

"Or that works too." Robin sighed, producing two batons. He'd been training with them ever since his fight with Ra's. Raven hoped his hard work would pay off. The bo-staff had been reliable. And, though he'd been severely disadvantaged, so far the only real fight she knew he'd been in with batons; he'd lost.

But any time for self-reflection was lost by then. From further off than she'd have guessed, the true wendigo leaped. David was on the ground, scrambling to get his grip back on the rifle. She acted instinctively. Before the beast's sharp claws could tear the old man apart, she ducked to his level and created a shield of darkness. It lasted only for a second, but it was enough to stun the freak in its pounce. Down on one knee, she could see the barrel of the rifle raised in front of her; its long shaft pointing away from her and right at the staggering monster.

It went click. David followed it up with a "God damn it!" before fumbling inside his pockets, presumably to look for shells.

Before Raven could rise Robin came swinging in from the right; knocking aside the stunned beast with a well placed kick. A fury of blows from his batons, though not seemingly doing any real damage kept the creature unbalanced and unable to fight back effectively.

She wanted to help him. But it was only one of the many pressing issues. Another was getting David out of there, if the old bugger wanted to or not. And then there was Rogue. Still in her mythical disguise she stormed straight for Starfire, and if she got past her; the newly made entrance would allow for her escape. If the villain got out, Raven was doubtful they'd be able to catch up again. Especially with this other monster keeping them busy.

When Starfire blasted a fierce beam from her eyes, but Rouge's form opened up to let it pass through, her decision was made. Dark tentacles sprung from the ground as she raised her arms. They tangled and tripped up the fake wendigo. However, they could not hold it long.

While the horseman of Famine maintained the demon of hunger's shape, more or less, its flexible form wiggled its way out of the onslaught of darkness. It did, however, buy Starfire enough time to advance on the rubber foe.

The alien girl charged the bolts in her hands, ready to fire. But Rouge was ready to strike at the close-by Titan, its nails rushing for the young girl's face before she could strike. Raven was only just in time to wrap the dark tentacles around its wrists, effectively holding them back. And before they could extend and still pierce the orange Titan, the bolts were fired.

The chest was launched from the fake wendigo's chest, bouncing back through the cave across the rocky surface. Already Rouge's monstrous form was reforming; the hole closed.

Just a moment more. Raven and Star would just need a moment more to take her down. Their combined strength would be enough to destabilize the shapeshifter enough to be captured in a dark prison.

Yet the chaos caught up.

"Raven!" She heard Nightwing call out. "Watch it!"

She turned her head just in time to see the real wendigo stampeding towards her. But not in time to react as its sharp teeth aimed straight for her throat.

She was covered in blood before long, feeling the monster pressing its full weight on her.

But it wasn't hers blood. And it wasn't warm.

The creature had tumbled, bleeding from its shoulder. The gunshot that had rung out still buzzing in her ears. On her back, with the recovering beast on top off her after colliding in its unstoppable momentum, she could see Rouge free from the now disappeared dark tentacles. With her focus gone, so was the manifestation of her powers. It didn't take the brainwashed shapeshifter long to take advantage of this situation. She swatted the orange girl aside with brute strength; smacking her against a large boulder. The girl sank to the ground, grunting in pain; dazed.

Raven could just see the shape-shifter bring down a sharp claw straight for the downed Titan. And by then the true wendigo atop of her demanded her immediate attention. She barely made out from the corner of her eyes that the fake's claw was obliterated by another shot. And while grateful for the momentary safety of her friend; Raven could not find herself enjoying the moment. Desperately fending of the snapping sharp dentures of an undead mythological beast ready to tear your face off will do that. She held the wendigo by its antler's, holding the monster's mouth away from her but by an inch. Her arms strained and she could feel its cold undead tongue slapping across her face; already tasting her flesh. She screamed; mustering all her strength to keep it from sinking its teeth into her.

Salvation came when a cord wrapped itself around the wendigo's antlers. In a split second her desperate struggle was alleviated and the monster's pressure was diminished significantly. So much so that it bent over backwards and landed on its back. She could see Nightwing pulling his grappling gun at the other end of the cord.

"You're hungry?!" She heard him yell. "Then eat this!"

Raven took only a moment to enjoy the beast screaming in terror as an unknown but high amount of voltage ran through its body, guided by the cord from the grappling gun.

A third shot from David, still seated on the ground, brought her back to focus. The fake wendigo was already scrambling back toward the chest. Starfire was still dazed, trying to get up after the beat-down. And as David's shell made contact with the shape-shifter; it was clear it wasn't going to do any good. Like its claw before, part of the rubber body exploded and was catapulted away. But the form itself regenerated almost instantly thereafter. If anyone was going to stop the horseman, with Robin busy, it was her.

Rouge had a headstart. But the flying demon wasn't hindered by the slippery, rocky terrain. Even so, the shape-shifter reached its destination before she did; picking up the chest once again. Dark claws formed around Raven's hands as she sped up towards the would-be wendigo. Her cape and cowl flapping behind her as she accelerated to full speed. When Rouge turned around, she'd use that moment of imbalance to rip her to shreds.

Yet a creature like Rouge needn't turn around. Instead, her front became her back and vice versa. And she was ready for the speeding teen.

Or at least; almost.

The raven's shadow talons managed to grab hold of the swatting claws. And soon both the bird of prey and the thrall were caught in a disoriented trajectory. The Azarathian failed to hold on and grunted as she landed on the ground. Raven continued to bounce against the ground again and again, before coming to a stop against a cold, hard wall. Her body was bruised all over and the back of her head felt like it was about to explode.

Squinting and trying her best to see, she noticed her adversary had suffered a similar fate. But with a body made of rubber, the fake wendigo was quick to recover. She grunted and made an effort to stand up. She wasn't unsuccessful. But, like Starfire in the distance, too slow. And Robin and David, in the midst of a struggle with the real wendigo, were no help either. She witnessed it tossing aside David who'd been clinging to its antlers, the cord and grappling hook already gone, and almost swatting aside Nightwing. The boy barely dodged the blow with a summersault. By then she'd taken her second step. And Rouge was already at the newly formed entrance to the cave.

We need a miracle, she thought to herself as she witnessed the horseman leap to the last boulders before the hole in the wall.

If divine intervention is synonymous with heavenly bright lights, what happened next could count.

She had to shield her eyes to cope with the flare.


Cyborg's hands were on the steering wheel of the aircraft as it hovered over the river. Its heavy duty searchlight shone straight into the cave, finding a monstrous beast shielding its eyes. Cyborg didn't need to be a genius to get the gist of the situation as the illumination allowed him to see another of the things attacking both his leader as well as the grumpy, apparently not quite that insane, old man. (Though being one didn't harm either.) Raven in the back of the cave and Starfire down on the ground were all the more reason not to hold back.

A quick push on a button on the control panel and he knew the two mini-guns on the belly of the aircraft deployed themselves. He could even hear it as his green friend opened the side-door of the craft and leaped out.

Cyborg flipped two protective tops on the steering wheel; revealing two very tempting buttons.

As soon as he pressed them; the onslaught began. He'd set his weapons to 400 rounds per minute each. And soon the non-lethal but unbelievably painful special made shells roared away into the night. Their song of retribution echoing through the valley; overtaking the rush of the river, the screams of the wendigo it pinned down and even his own "Booyah".


The tracker in his hand told him he was close. Good thing too. In the short time he'd spent underground, Bruce had seen too much of hell already. The trail of unconscious bodies he'd left throughout the hospital a testimony to that. He'd fought eight of the Dulmacher-made dolls. He couldn't even fathom how many people they'd been to begin with.

The door opened with an ominous creak. Standing in the hallway lit by emergency lighting, he could see where the path had led him. The morgue. The high walls filled with metal cabinets to house the dead flanked both sides, but the shadows inside clouded most of them. As his hand went for the light switch, he found it not working.

In the streak of light falling in through the open door, he could see the laptop resting on a tray amidst four corpses on similar trays; covered in white blankets. Right in the middle of the bleak room. It was an obvious a trap as he'd ever seen.

And yet, even as he focused, none of the bodies even moved in the slightest. There was no way to tell which Dulmacher was. Not from this far, at least.

He moved in, careful of his surroundings. When close enough to grab the laptop, he instead grabbed the white cloths of the two nearest bodies and tugged them off in one quick pull. They revealed nothing but two naked bodies, one man and one woman, bald and riddled in scars.

It had been a 50/50 chance to get him first time around. He knew. But he didn't like it. He reached out and grasped the other blankets. He tugged them too, but involuntarily. As he sank to the ground, the white cloth fell atop him. The pain in his side tremendous.

Inside the small, mostly metal, room, the echo of the gunshot still rang out loud. He couldn't even hear his own grunting for the ringing of his ears. The movement caught his eye. From the right-side one of the cabinets opened and from it a man stepped out. It had been hidden in the shadows, but the placeholder for the nametag had been missing. It would have allowed a man with a gun a straight shot through, as soon as he knew the victim to be in the exact right spot.

Smoking barrel still in hand, Dulmacher came into view and stepped around the trays of corpses, a look of disdain on his face.

"I'll kill you." He spoke in his vaguely German accent as he pointed the pistol down at the draped superhero. "Then I will bring you back, and kill you again, and again. I can make it so."

The batman was breathing heavily. Catching his breath from the impact of the bullet that had hit him in the side.

Luckily, his suit was made of kevlar. As the doctor cocked the handgun, the Bat kicked. The tray his foot landed on shot forward; bumping into the post-modern Frankenstein. Unbalanced, his shot missed target. And the bat wouldn't allow for another opportunity. The gun was quickly taken from his foe's hand as he rose, and its dismantled parts left on the ground. He pulled the dazed doctor over the tray and cadaver; smacking him down hard on the ground.

Three punches he laid in for good measure. One for running. One for shooting. And the hardest one of all for the people he'd made suffer.

The man's lip was bloody and torn. He was mumbling incoherently, on the brink of unconsciousness.

The bat pulled him up by his clothes and brought him close.

"Time for a little talk." He threatened darkly, before sending him to sleep with a bump of his head.

He had the man. Grabbing the laptop, he had the data too.

Now all he had to do was get them out.

He wasted no time.

He'd finally found the one place worse than Gotham.

And now he couldn't wait to get back home.


The changeling's green wings afforded him an easy landing into the cave. As he shifted back into a teenager, he noticed the monster to his right. Its body was reacting to the rubber bullets in a very unique way.

For one, the monster wasn't shielding itself. It was annoyed for sure. And probably even in pain. But it stood its ground in the never-ending onslaught of rapid gunfire. And also it seemed to be readjusting itself after every hit.
He'd seen her plenty. He'd known her long enough. Recognizing the woman of a million disguises was not a hard thing to do for him. But finding ways to put her away and defeat her were.

Yet for now, his friend's firepower seemed to hold her. He couldn't do anything to her, even if he knew what to do. Besides, he was needed by the monster's mirror image.

He broke into a sprint, his body changing along the way. He didn't particularly like David. But he wasn't about to let him get ripped to shreds either. Yet as the old man crawled to his rifle, Beast Boy knew he'd never reach it in time. Not even with Nightwing unleashing a quick succession of blows against the monster.

The leader of the Titans danced underneath a snarling bite. But it left him open to a kick strong enough to lift him from the ground and make him land on his back several feet away. Now free, the creature reached out to the crawling trapper and grabbed his leg, pulling him closer.

It didn't even see Beast Boy coming until he was all over it. It was left roaring; trying to rid itself of the fangs and claws digging into its back.

Cyborg's scream at first continued to match the blazing, rotating mini-guns. But, to his dismay, it outlasted them. The blinking screen on the dashboard informed him he'd run out of ammo. The dual gun's smoke rose from the belly of the craft and through it, he saw his target still standing.
It sank to one knee, the last of the pellets dropping from its fluid body; shifting shape as it recuperated from the onslaught. But it didn't turn back into Rouge. Instead, the half-man-half-machine witnessed the horseman of Famine itself coming into the world. With deep cheeks and every bone in her body so utterly visible you could count them. Her sickly flesh was but a thin joke of what it should be; there only because tradition demanded it. From Femme Fatale, she turned to living corpse; with dry skin and cracked lips. Her hair as grey and lifeless as her brainwashed mind.

And it looked up at him. Not with hate. Not with determination. Not begging for surrender. It just stared, with a look that from those sunken eyes that penetrated into his very soul.

He sensed what was coming next before it happened.

"Ah, damn." Cyborg stated.

But she was already reaching by then; her midriff and arms stretching out with killer intent; closing the gap between her and the craft. The force of her extending arms shattered the glass of the cockpit and grabbed hold of it. The cold, outside air greeted him as the shards flew around his face; bouncing off the metal parts but splinters burrowing their way into his face. Victor had tried to back up the aircraft, but he'd been too late. Her arms had latched on. And the rest of her was coming with.

The face straight out of a nightmare was coming for him. He unbuckled himself desperately, to give himself a fighting chance. But as he did so, he knew in his heart (and in the calculations he sometimes wished he could shut off,) that he was too late.

The dark shadow claw wrapping itself around the shape-shifter's torso was therefore much appreciated. It didn't help for long, but it bought him the time to unclasp himself. He rose from the seat, flicking the switch to the autopilot, as the ever-changing shape kept expanding and rushing towards him. It didn't quite break free from the shadowy claw but rather reformed anew, spreading beyond it. Now utterly formless but for the terrifying head, it all rushed for the cockpit; blocking out what little light the outside world provided.

He raised his arm blaster as the hungry mouth of Famine reached for him.

When they were but inches away, he spoke, more calmly than he felt: "Too slow." The gun's blue light charged. "You're out of shape."

The blast tore right through the rubber body.
He was extremely pleased his modifications had worked. He'd known the new destabilizer upgrade in his canon worked in theory. But without a proper test-run, he found the relief washing over him.
It was good to be a genius.


She did her very best to focus. But the more Raven tried to hold on to Rouge with her giant hand made of shadows, the more she realized she couldn't keep it up. The shapeshifter was most difficult to hold onto. From the banks she could feel its body expanding within the dark hand appearing in the sky, over the striking river. And what good did it do to hold on anyways? The rest of her had already reformed and struck straight for Cyborg.

When the blue pulse exploded from the cockpit, tearing straight through the villain, she felt two things. Relief that her friend was alright. And pain. The energy sent something surging through Rouge's entire, flexible body and it stung the metaphysical hand holding her. Raven shouted in agony and toppled over through the surge of power. Her connection with the summoned shadows lost, leaving them to evaporate.

From the banks of the pool of water inside the dark cave, she could see the bottom part of Rouge already struggling, shapeless blob that it was, to regain a shape. And before she knew it, the tireless, formless Horseman lunged for the belly of the craft.

"What the…?" She heard Cyborg exclaim, peering out from the cockpit.

She saw him ready his blaster. But someone beat him to it.

Starfire was a blur of orange and green as she powered straight through the blob, cutting it in half. It was quite a sight to see her shining so bright against such bleak surroundings. To think a girl that sweet and caring to her friends could wield such a powerful and merciless force as it tore through her enemies. Raven was reminded; Tamaranians were a warrior-people, after all.

"You go girl." She mouthed.

She barely had time to reflect that Beast Boy seemed to be rubbing off on her.


If she'd still had the capacity for emotion, the horseman of Famine might've felt frustration and agony boiling up inside her flexible body. The uncomfortable feeling of the cybernetic one's weapon was making it hard for her to reestablish an effective form. And being denied time and again her escape was inconveniencing. She had but one mission; to get the chest inside her out and back to her master. This was vital.

Oh yes. If she'd been her old self, she would have been furious. Enraged.

But ever since her master had given her the device and had attached it to her head. Things were ever clear and easy. She didn't think. She didn't imagine. She calculated.

And she got results.

Another blue blast from the cybernetic teen settled the deal. Let them claim their prize. They would not claim victory.

As she couldn't even sustain the most primal of forms: ooze, she dispersed. Dripping over the rocks. The chest buried inside her revealed as she dripped into the gushing river; more and more of her. Eventually, all her being was underneath the water.


The big green dog's yelp as he crashed into the boulder cut through Raven's heart and soul. Her determination and Rage teamed up in her inside world of Nevermore. Somewhere, lost in its lands, was Logic; pleading her to secure the chest first. But Rage and Determination's alliance proved too strong, allowing her to rush over to the Wendigo under dark wings. Beast Boy was moaning and returning to his usual shape, not too far from the downed David. And Nightwing was buying her the time she needed.
His fast and strong legs allowing him to avoid the monster's blows and returning a fury of blows from his heels and batons. Powerful though they were, they weren't enough to harm the beast. But they didn't have to. All they had to do was distract it. And before it knew it, the concussion grenade was stuck to its chest.

Nighting tumbled back, dodging one last grab, before the explosive went off, sending the monster flying backwards. Though Raven wasn't about to let it get too far.

"Azarath." She threatened, advancing quickly. "Metrion." Her hand extended. A dark rock started floating in the air behind her. "Zinthos!" She finished as she neared the monster; her hand clenching into a fist. It hit her foe with a sickening crunch.

But all she'd managed to crush, she was displeased to see, was a part of one of its antlers. The monster proved quick to recover, and nimble as well. It lunged for her. The only intent on its mind being to kill.


She felt stronger now. In the water there were no storms of orange and green. No blue beams to make her lose form. Here, in the dark, she could grow. And all damage done to her flowed away. They washed over her. Just like the river.
She felt ready.

Ready to strike.


Beast Boy heard his name being called. He tried his best to open his eyes. But with the dark and blurry shapes around him, he wasn't sure he was doing it right.
He felt slow and sleepy. But sick and hurt too. The cold and hard surroundings did little to make him feel better.

His name again. He tried to make the world snap into focus. There was some recognition to some of the shapes. One blur was more familiar than the other. And somehow, he figured, he'd gotten himself to sit upright.

"Beast Boy!"

He snapped out of it. His body still aching from where the monstrous Wendigo had tossed him. And his head still pounding away. It was an unpleasant experience. But at least it was a clear one.

"Duuuuude." He moaned, grasping for his head.

"You okay?" He recognized the voice calling him now.

"Sure thing Robin." He groaned, forgetting the dude's new nickname for a moment.

"David's down and out but okay for now."

Beast Boy looked up slowly. Nearby Nightwing rose, towering over the ancient woodsman at his feet.

"Come on, get up." His friend commanded, stepping over David and walking towards the green changeling. He extended a hand, and Garfield grabbed it, pulling himself up.

"Ready for another round?" His leader asked, his voice pressed for time.

"You betcha." Garfield responded looking up to him. He hoped he sounded better than he felt.

"Good." His friend replied, already moving past him.

Behind his parting body, Raven and the Wendigo came into view. She was doing her best dodging its blows. And when she couldn't fly past its sharp claws of sharp teeth, shield of shadows kept her safe. Still, he felt his blood boiling.

"You help her; I'll get what came for!" Nightwing called out from somewhere behind him.

He didn't need to be told twice.


Cyborg, standing in the cockpit, ran a diagnostic on their ship. With Rouge hit by two of his new blasts and a terrible display of force by Starfire, it didn't seem likely she'd be quick to recuperate. The orange alien landed on top of the aircraft's nose, looking out to the cave.

"Nightwing has taken it." She reported excitedly. "He has the chest!"

"Chest?" Cyborg asked in a distracted manner, as he pushed a few buttons to get a better reading.

"The chest! From the cabin." She went on, not realizing he seemed to be missing a vital piece of information. "I'll go help Beast Boy and Raven!" She finished.

He paid her little mind. His friends could take care of themselves, especially with Rouge out for a while. Granted, he didn't know how long the effect would last, but by his estimate they had plenty of time.

Things seemed in order. Apart from the windshield being splintered beyond repair, there were no hull breaches in their craft. It'd be mighty cold, but as far as he could guess; she would continue to fly.

How wrong he was.


Starfire jumped off their miniature plane's nose. The adrenaline coursed in her veins as she readied herself to assist her comrades.

She didn't get far, however, before surging ruckus made her turn around. From underneath the craft, like an eldritch horror, a shapeless monster of red and black rose. Its tentacle-like body pierced the belly of the vehicle and consumed it's insides in the blink of an eye. Expanding and ready to consume Cyborg.

She was already moving by then. Even as her cybernetic friend raised his blaster, ready to fire once more. But this time, their foe was faster. A patch of its black skin reached out to the blaster. And the next thing she knew, as she reached for her teammate, he turned in agony; his metal arm shattered to pieces from the inside.
Later she'd learn Rouge had wormed her way into the smallest of irregularities of his blaster and then expanded mercilessly. But at the moment she didn't have time to think about such things.

Acting fast and wholly out of instinct, she grabbed onto her damaged friend by the chest. Holding him tight, she pushed them off, before more of the shapeless terror could claim them.

As they leapt out of immediate danger's way and floated down to the base of the cave, the ship suffered the same fate as Cyborg's arm.

The blob fell into the river, along with the rest. They saw it happen, huddled together.

But it wasn't long before the horseman of Famine rose from the waters; dripping and advancing calmly.

"This is the bad, is it not?" She asked, watching the thin creature emerge.

"This is the bad." The one-armed bandit by her side agreed.


Robin felt like he was trapped between a rock and a hard place. Behind him Raven and Beast Boy were locked in a battle with the wendigo. The two seemed to prove a match for the beast, without getting the upper hand. As far as he could tell, it was a tug of war of dodging bites and blows on either side. As fearsome as it was, he had to stop and admire the monster's agility as the three disappeared deeper and deeper into the cave.

And in front of him, his girlfriend and second in command were doing their best to keep Rouge at bay. Truth be told, it was mostly Starfire's work. Her relentless onslaught of thrown star-bolts was the only thing slowing down the horseman of Famine. Even if she seemed perfectly content with calmly walking forward in the first place.

If either group needed him most, it seemed to be them, but bringing the chest closer to their enemies was risky business.

"Cyborg!" He called out, running over.

The large teen responded immediately, turning towards him.

"Tag me in!" He shouted, hoping his friend was on the same level.

It seemed so. Cyborg rushed for him. When he tossed him the chest, right before they met, his friend caught it with his remaining hand.

"Keep that safe!" He ordered as they passed.

"Got it." The reply came.

But Nightwing scarce heard it, as he ran to help his girlfriend.


Bruce was glad his new traveling companion was staying still. His training had left him more than strong enough to carry a full-grown man. But with the doctor's laptop underhand; the unconscious body was a drag to drag along.
He'd tried the exit the occupants of the underground hospital had fled by, but found it locked and barred. He could've gotten through, but it would have cost him a lot of time. And he'd already spent too long inside. It wouldn't be long before Jim Gordon had his colleagues at Blüdhaven all riled up and surrounding the place. He needed to be gone by then.

So when he finally exited the elevator, he was happy the vending-machine budged easily. The clashes with Dulmacher's living dolls had left him exhausted. He only wished he didn't have to park the batmobile four streets away. He considered bringing it over by autopilot. But if he could avoid it being seen by any oncoming police-officers, it'd be better. Who knew what Gotham low-life scum would grab their chance, hearing the Bat was out of town. No, best to avoid any news. As always the shadows and dark were his friends. Any man in a cape could become a legend. He needed to remain half a myth.

As he dragged man and laptop out of the hidden elevator, however his dismay rose. For several things happened at once. The alarm in his interface on his left arm went off the same time as Alfred's voice returned to his ear. He also heard a muffled voice on a megaphone bellowing outside the hospital. He couldn't quite make out what it said through all the rock and mortar. But he recognized the tone well enough.

Cops.

Why did Gordon always have to be so efficient?

It's why he liked him. But still.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred's voice boomed. "Am I getting through, sir?"

"I'm here Alfred."

"Oh, thank God." The Britt's voice one of immense relief. "I regret to inform you that the police have arrived, sir."

"I noticed." He said, checking the alarm coming from his arm.

"And the batmobile, sir..."

"I noticed." He said, a rage underlining his voice. Not aimed towards his one-time guardian and all-time friend. But towards this night itself. He knew Alfred would realize that.

Despite his billions, Bruce had never been that attached to mere material possessions. Had it been one of his jaguars or Lamborghini's he kept for maintaining his mask as a carefree bachelor heir, he wouldn't have thought twice of it. But somebody had the audacity to try and break into his batmobile. That took either a special kind of bravery, or a special kind of stupidity. Perhaps even both.

"Want me to run an electric current across the surface of your car, sir?" His butler asked. "It ought to stun him, not lethally of course. And I imagine I'll have to wax it once you bring it in anyways. Can't be having his filthy prints all over it."

"Good to know you have your priorities straight, Alfred." The Bat complained, grabbing the limp Dulmacher by the collar and dragging him through the hospital.

"Sorry sir, did you find what you were looking for?"

"I think so. I've got the man and the intel. Though we'll have to decode it later on. And beat the information out of him."

"He's not willing to just spill the beans, then?"

Bruce remembered the horrors from down below. They crawled their way back into his mind, distorted and horrifying and all. "Oh, I hope not." He said, picking up the pace. "How long have I got?"

"For the car, or the policemen?"

"Both."

"The hoodlum is nowhere near breaking in, I suppose. As for Blüdhaven's finest; they are currently playing it by the book."

"First time for everything, I guess."

"Indeed. If they are following protocol, and seeing the floor you're on, I'd guess you have… about twelve minutes before you're spotted."

"Thanks Alfred. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Spend a lot more time brooding, if that were possible. So is that a yes or no on the current, sir?"

"Let it be, I don't want to risk him having a pacemaker or something and short-frying that. I'll be there before he gets in, and I'll personally make sure he never tries it again."

"Right you are. Contact me if you need me."

He didn't need his help to escape the building. The cops were competent enough, but he'd been in tighter jams. Dragging the bound body to one of the windows and placing the laptop by his feet, he peered out to survey the situation. The officers had the place surrounded. And they were using searchlights to sweep across the windows. Across the street was a close enough and high-enough, but not too high, building. It was perfect. When the searchlight neared, he ducked. Immediately after he took a diamond edge from his belt and activated a suction option on one of his gloves, placing it against the window. Within seconds he'd carved out a giant circle from the window, leaving a hole big enough to pass through. A quick dash through the hallways and he'd placed a plastic explosive on another window. When he was ready, after tying the laptop to the man and hoisting him up and before the searchlight discovered him, he set off the explosive. All eyes and lights were immediately drawn to it, as planned. The grappling hook flew, connected across the street and pulled them across.


Not a second had passed after Nightwing tagged into the fight with Rouge, before she overcame the meager resistance Starfire offered. The woman's body was quick to stretch far past Starfire, her attention seemingly solely focused on the chest Nightwing had just thrown to his comrade.

That mistake was on her, the leader of the Titans judged as he pulled two sonic devices from his belt. They were shaped like black crescent moons. Smooth, with a handle on each. In their middle a red dot blinked as he applied just the right pressure.

Within seconds the shapeshifter's rapid advance was halted. Her body fell to the ground and shrank back to its normal self. Not the wendigo, not the horseman of Famine, but Rouge. She was clasping her temples, her face one of agony. Her body writhing and squirming in inescapable pain.

"Vat are you doing to me you brat!?" She called out in her familiar accent. "Vhere am I!?"

Now this was interesting, Nightwing noted. Was the sonic wave not only keeping her from taking any form she wanted, but also somehow interrupting the signal of whatever it was that kept her brainwashed and under control? Whatever it was doing, he wasn't about to light up.

However, sometimes life gives you little choice.

"Nightwing!" Cyborg called to his right.

"What?" He asked, turning to his friend, never stopping the sonic wave.

"We got trouble!" His friend explained.

He followed his gaze to the entrance to the cave. Three shapes were barging in, flying through the skies. Three wingless yet flying horses and two riders atop them. He could see the sickly looking mount and its rider combating Starfire in the distance. Clouds of green, toxic looking gas soon made him blind to the far off fight.

But the two others were heading straight for him.

"Cyborg run!" He screamed, hoping his friend took his advice. He was unsure what would happen next, but he was quite certain he wouldn't be able to maintain this impasse he was holding with Rouge for much longer.

When Immortus came too close on his red, impressive steed, any doubt was washed from his mind. Keeping one sonic device on the squirming Rouge, he aimed the other on his advancing foe. And though it seemed to have an effect for a split second, this was nullified when flames erupted from the horse's mouth.

Luckily the initial shock soon gave way to his reflexes as he dodged and rolled away from the oncoming inferno.

"What?!" Nightwing yelled as he got up. "Now that's just unfair!"

Atop his ride, the horseman of war smirked down at him. "The flames of war will consume all." He said before the horse spewed more fire.

And before he knew it, Nightwing was on the ropes.


Cyborg ran a few paces before he jumped up and let his jet-pack take over. The cavern was large enough and its ceiling high enough to give him plenty of maneuvering space. Mid-air he turned to watch his friends get their derrières handed to them. Raven and Beast Boy were disappearing into a tunnel, deeper into the caverns; locked in a battle of teeth and nails. In the distance Starfire was getting nowhere close to her adversary, always cut off by the poisonous thick gas. He was glad she had the sense to steer clear from it though. She wasn't human, but he didn't want to put any money on it not being harmful for her.
Too bad the rat-catcher's gas seemed non-flammable. Or at least her bolts and beams were doing nothing to ignite it. He pondered for a split-second if Robin could lure Immortus over to her and Pestilence. Perhaps that would give the explosive opening they'd been looking for.

But the computer in his brain had but the briefest of moments to calculate such scenarios, as a giant hand, a big as himself, lunged for him. He dodged it, but it got him on the backhand. From down on the ground, Rouge had smacked him into the ceiling; back first. He heard the jetpack crack and fall apart on contact. The small explosion it caused damaged him and sent him plummeting for the ground with a boosted speed. Upon making contact with the ground he could hear bits and pieces of metal rumbling around inside him. That wasn't good.

Despite it all he found the strength to get to his knees; pushing himself up with his one arm, still holding the metal box he'd been told to guard. Gritting his teeth, he looked up, only to find a large shape looming over him. But it wasn't Rouge. No, it was her ride. Rearing in all its horrific majesty, its front hooves came down and the world turned black for a second. He could hear the programs running him go on full alert as he fell backward to the ground. He tried his best to get back up, but a heavy hoof kept him down. And but a moment later he could see the horse of Famine show its teeth; sharp, hungry and covered in a slime. He screamed as they plunged down and sank into him. Tearing his hand off by the wrist as they tore through wires and reinforced metals.

Within seconds, as the ravishing mouth tore away, he was without hands.

And without the box.

In one swift movement, Rouge was atop her ride. The monstrous equine atop him swung its head up, launching the mysterious box in the air. Using her powers, catching it was an easy feet. The starving horse bit down harder and swallowed his hand whole.

Without a word said, its hungry mouth shot down again, this time aimed for his throat.

He was faster to react this time, face to face with death.

A hole opened in his chest, and from it, a blue and white canon emerged. It fired before the sharp teeth found their way to his neck. The blue beam of light launched horse and rider into the air. As he struggled to get up, he could see she managed to struggle to stay mounted.
Leaning on the stump of his remaining arm, he tried to line up another shot. When he did and fired, she managed to dodge, however. As she retreated closer to her allies, Cyborg saw their window of opportunity go out the window.


The green bear Beast Boy had become snarled and snapped its jaws at the much leaner shape. There really was nothing quite like it, he reflected as his sharp claws swatted for the monster; driving it back for the moment. The chamber they'd chased it into was smaller in surface, though equally large in height. Each step the monster took brought it closer to an abyss. From how tall he stood, the green bear could tell it wasn't a deep fall. But still, if they could manage to make it fall, it would not recover before they'd have it in their power.

Raven seemed to have the same idea. She flew over his back and shoulder, to unleash the next salvo of blows. All cloak and shadows, her fury raged on. By the time she darted aside, he'd turned into a ferocious bull, aiming to but the monster aside. But it's long, lean, undead fingers managed to grab him by the horns. He pushed and pushed, driving it back inch by inch as it pressed against him, all the while shadow-whips struck it time and again.

Perhaps it got its strength from its building fury under the onslaught aimed at him. Perhaps it was simply done being pushed into a corner. But with a supernatural and primal force, the bull felt itself being lifted up by the antlered demon and with great strength, be tossed aside. Tumbling over rock, he came to a stop in his own form, bruised and battered. He reminded himself that this was an ancient and savage beast they were dealing with. Unpredictable, cornered and hungry. The fact that they'd been pushing it back meant nothing when it wouldn't hesitate to take any advantage it saw to tear them apart.

As he got up he could see Raven meet its claws, hand per hand, with shadowy extensions of her own. Locked in their struggle and determined not to give in, she didn't even see the foot coming. One of its powerful hind legs kicked her right in the stomach, sending her flying for a few feet. The shadows evaporated simultaneously.

As it sprinted, determined to close the gap between it and its prey, Beast Boy got up and hauled for a midway interception. This would take all they had, he realized; allowing something primal to take over. It would take one monster to fight another. There was no holding back.

They collided. And somewhere increasingly far off, as his other self took center stage, he could hear the Wendigo grunt as they toppled over and tumbled down. By then all there was, was a snapping of jaws. And he couldn't tell which were which.


Moving from one boulder to another, and taking a moment to catch his breath at each one, David limped closer to the abyss and the fallen Titan. When he was close enough, he could peer down to the lower section of the room. His handle on his rifle tightened for a second. There was the Wendigo alright. Locked in a savage fury of biting and scratching with another, equally impressive monster. He'd never seen a beast of this kind. But with it being green and all, it was a no-brainer.

As long as the two kept clinging to each-other, dancing around launching and dodging swipes of their sharp claws, he could not get the shot he needed. And as little as he cared for the green one, he was no murderer.

Feeling his leg complain as he did so, he sank to one beside the hooded witch-girl. He shook her by the shoulder after checking her breathing. It didn't take long for her to come to.

"Muh..." She managed, blinking.

"Come on." He said, shaking slightly harder.

"Okay… okay." She said, a tad irritated, she freed herself from his grasp.

The wendigo's scream caught his attention at that very moment. Looking over he saw the muscular green beast hold the Wendigo by its antlers. It lifted it up and brought it back down again; smacking it to the ground. The Beast then continued to repeat the process.

"What's that?" Raven asked, sitting upright.

"I was going to say, you're boyfriend's in trouble. But he actually seems to be fairing pretty well."

"Oh, no." He heard her gasp. "Beast Boy."

He paid a closer look to her expression. There was some dismay and concern in her eyes.

What was that about? That hulking beast green boy had turned into was amazingly brutal and powerful. He should retain that form all the time. And yet, she seemed troubled.

A few seconds later something happened that truly warranted an "Oh, no." Smacking down the monster once more, a part of its antlers broke off. The green beast had to drop what he was holding fast, to counter the Wendigo's quick nails raking for him.

He was not entirely fast enough. From this distance, David could not tell. But as the claw moved over the hulking Beast's body, he could imagine the gash it would leave.

After it let out a loud roar, Beast Boy sent out a punch straight against the Wendigo's head. Another part of the antlers broke off as it tumbled backwards and fell to the ground. The green beast dropped that piece too, as its now free hand moved to its chest. It roared again, in pain. The whole thing was mesmerizing. And while his hatred for the Wendigo never faltered, he found himself unable to intervene with the savage wildness down below.

The green beast rushed for its downed foe. But the Wendigo was down, not out. It rose at just the right moment and got him with the remainder of his antlers and lifted him in one swift move up in the air and launched him. As the green beast came down and scrambled back up, the Wendigo's long limbs were already scrambling away; clambering over the cold, rocky underground. Was it trying to get away? Or was it looking for something?

David tried to aim a shot, but by the time he had it, the green Beast had rushed over again. He didn't need the witch-girl's hand to push the barrel of his rifle down. He couldn't risk taking this shot.

The hulking beast grabbed his foe again by the antlers and pulled him back. But the Wendigo moved and turned; not struggling against but rather going with the flow. It brought its hands close to the beast's abdomen. And right below its ribs, it struck. The green beast howled as it let go and backed up, falling over as he did so. Even from this distance, he could see the piece of antler broken of earlier protruding from the wound.

"Ah hell." He grunted, lining the shot up again.

But by now the Wendigo was already all over the beast. Wounded as it was, it had a hard time keeping the man-eater at bay.

"I can't take the shot." He told the girl.

And indeed their conflict was making it very hard to find the right monster to shoot. But he also knew that if this went on for much longer, he'd be forced to shoot anyways. The green beast was not faring well anymore.

Yet the witch-girl had not stuck around to hear him complain. He watched her glide down to the lower platform. The air was suddenly much colder and ominous. David wouldn't have guessed it possible. But so it was. As he saw the hood and cape descend, he couldn't help but notice the scythe inexplicably in her hands.

A shriek caught his attention soon, however. He saw the Wendigo howling in indignation, as the second piece of broken of antler was sticking from a nasty wound in its leg. Yet it managed a backhand powerful enough to topple the green beast. And it turned back into the kid, groaning and grumbling. Just as it grabbed a boulder and held it overhead, ready to smash its foe.


Nightwing was finally able to recapture his bearings, if only because the insistent fire breathing had stopped. He felt like he'd never been so grateful for bad news in his entire life. Immortus retreating could mean only one thing. He looked up to see the horsemen of War and Famine rush over to their comrade. Their steeds galloped on thin air.

A giant gun sticking out of his chest, Cyborg came running up to him. He was missing an arm and both hands. His metallic body was scratched and dented all over. The reinforced glass parts were cracked and splintered. If he were a betting man, he'd have put money on his friend running on auxiliary power.

"They took it!" His friend cried out apologetically.

Nightwing gritted his teeth in frustration and grabbed his grappling-gun. He had one shot at this, and he wasn't about to blow it. The rope flew across the room and tangled itself around one of the hind legs of the horseman of War's fiery steed. Before long it stretched and dragged him along through the air as they rushed for the exit.

When they passed Starfire and Pestilence's brawl, he too followed his fellow heralds of the apocalypse. Nightwing wouldn't stay dangling on for long, he realized as the reeled in the rope. And he wouldn't be able to take the chest from them. Unless Beast Boy and Raven came out to level the playing field, there would be no stopping the three of them from escaping. As much as he disliked it, he'd have to settle for planting a tracker. Then, as soon as they managed to regroup, they'd be able to take their enemies by surprise.

As he reached for one of the trackers in his belt, however, the three horseman entered the ravine and climbed straight upward to the night's sky. The ground bellow grew more and more distant. And then, as bad as that seemed the rope of his grappling-gun caught fire. Immortus turned around atop his steed and looked down at him with an evil grin on his face as they continued to climb.
In desperation Nightwing tossed the small tracker. But he couldn't fight gravity, not at this speed. And a second later, it took hold of him as the burned rope snapped. For a few seconds, his gut was gripped by the falling sensation. Yet it didn't last long. It's strange just how accustomed one can get to a dependable team. He never once felled more worried about plummeting to his death than he did about his enemies getting away. And with good reason, for he landed in the safe arms of Starfire.

"I have you." She reassured, guiding him down gently.

"Thanks." He replied. "But they have the chest."

"I shall start the pursuit." She said as she put him on the bank of the river.

She flew up, but he could already see them dive back into the protective greenery the forest so amply provided. They'd split up, he knew. And Star wouldn't be able to track them. Hell, he wouldn't be able to track them with a sufficient speed. And especially not seeing as they didn't have to leave tracks. And just a few miles away, they could resurface; well out of sight and unable to trace.

They were out of their grasp, even if he disliked admitting it.

"No." He resigned. "There's nothing we can do. Let's go help Beast Boy and Raven."

She didn't like it any more than he did. He could tell.

But she accepted it all the same.


Beast Boy grunted as he opened his right eye. The looming figure of the Wendigo seemed quite busy. In any other case he might have appreciated it not going for his throat. The giant boulder it began lifting overhead did little to please him, however. He tried to focus, to find some creature to turn into that could turn the tide of the fight. But all he could think about was how much this was going to hurt. And how little he wanted to end up a pancake in some dark cave.

"Oh boy." He managed in a small voice.

The world seemed to grow darker as the Wendigo raised the giant rock. Shadows expanded and grew so very cold. And then, a metal sound pierced the empty cave. The undead monster, still holding the boulder overhead, turned its hideous face to look at whatever made the sound. The boy Logan found himself doing the same.

He was grateful for the save. But what he saw didn't comfort him much. The scythe's blade was dug into the hard surface. And at the end of its handle stood a void of shadows clad in Raven's hood and cape. He hand holding onto the scythe was made of evaporating darkness, giving it the appearance of dancing a somber waltz.

And the voice that came from it. It wasn't hers. He'd heard it before, in her Nevermore. Death spoke. Not her.

"IT IS NOT HIS TIME." It spoke grimly.

The monster hesitated, for just a second. Not so much for the message of the words, Beast Boy imagined. But for the sheer intervention itself. It roared in defiance, before returning its attention to him; taking one step closer and coming within reach to drop the giant boulder.

"BUT YOURS DRAWS NEAR." She continued, without any sense of immediacy.

He could see its muscles tighten and the boulder moved slightly, ready to be launched. But the shot that rang out changed everything. From down on the ground, he could see it clearly. The creature's fingers on one hand exploded, spraying undead blood across the chamber. Losing its hand, the wendigo lost its grip and the boulder smacked down on him; tearing half of its antlers as it crashed its way onto his side. The monster fell down with it after that, only to have its lower abdomen to be squashed with a sickening crunch as the boulder pinned it to the ground.

Its death rattle was even more horrifying than any other of its shrieking. Beast Boy crawled upright with some problems. For moving shot a bolt of pain from his abdomen to the rest of his body. Too afraid to pull it out he held the piece of the monster's antler in place and suffered as he sat upright. In doing so he just caught his savior descending the edge and joining them on the lower platform. He let David be, however. Unable to stand the ongoing squealing of the Wendigo he crawled over to what he hoped was still his girlfriend with one free hand and, on his knees, took hold of its cape.

"Hey Raven, come on, snap out of it!" He called.

It did not answer, except by turning its face from the Wendigo to look down at him. At least, that's what he suspected, as the total blackness underneath the turned hood made it impossible to verify.

"You've won." He exclaimed, trying to shout over the monster's wailing. "This is enough. Stop it now!"

She did not speak. That is to say; it did not speak.

Even the Wendigo's rattle was losing strength; its voice dying along with him.

"All these years..." David's voice called his attention, even if it wasn't aimed at him. In fact, judging by the determined look in the limping man's eyes, he was blind to anything but the Wendigo. "And finally I have you." He continued as he slowly made his way over.

The Wendigo didn't even seem aware of him. Desperately it tried to budge the boulder he'd previously been able to lift, out of the way. But with one hand mangled and its body broken, it lacked the strength.

David came to a halt just in front of the monster. And Beast Boy could see the clarity in his eyes as he stared down the nightmare that had haunted him for most of his life. He aimed the rifle straight for the monster and, as Garfield saw, gripped it tight.

"I don't know how you survived my poppop." He spoke harshly. "I don't know how you survived your death. But I promise you, you won't be coming back from this!"

The monster's wail was barely a cough now. And blinking through his own pain, Beast Boy could see it staring straight into the huntsman's eyes. Mangled face stared down mangled face. And as it reached out its arm, there was a glimmer of recognition. But not in the monsters eyes. It lay with the old man. He did the one thing Beast Boy would have never figured he'd do. When face to face with his greatest nightmare, and but one squeeze of a finger away from burying it after all these years, he instead lowered the gun. His mouth was shaking, and even with the gashes already present, his expression turned for the worse even yet. David's eyes were locked on the monsters' long arm and followed it as it dropped down. The freak now left to wheezing and groaning softly. Beaten and dying.

Unable to produce a sound, David sank to his knees. The gun fell to the ground. His hands were vibrant as they moved for the monsters arm. They touched and explored the undead flesh as they gingerly crept up. Beast Boy could see them stop at what seemed like a birthmark, roughly the shape of a crescent moon. The monster seemed resistant to his touch. It bared its sharp teeth and growled menacingly.

He didn't understand at the time. Not fully. Though he could sense the severity of the situation and whatever revelation had occurred with David.

"No." The old man finally managed. His voice as broken as he was. "Oh, God no."

The monster tried to snap its jaws. But it didn't have the strength nor speed to be quick enough.

"What happened to you?" David's voice trailed off.

When it returned, it was building steadily with each new curse-word. Some of which Beast Boy had never even heard in his life. He would've appreciated them more if he didn't currently have a sharp foreign object launched in his abdomen.

Cradled in the man's arms, the Wendigo ceased to offer up resistance. Instead, it remained whining and breathing irregularly and sickly.

"Aah." The old man cried, locking his forehead against the freak's. His own sobbing and despair dwarfing the other. "Aah, no. I'm sorry..." He cried. "I'm sorry."

"David..." Beast Boy groaned, still on his knees and one hand clinging to the cape of Death.

It too had resumed looking at the pair next to them.

David seemed oblivious. He made a desperate attempt to wipe the tears, blood and snot from his face. But it only made more of a mess. Seemingly afraid to do so, he reached for the rifle on the ground and gently laid the monster's head on the ground.

"I failed you." He whispered. "I failed you. But I'm here now."

"David..." Beast Boy tried again, louder this time.
He didn't much care for the Wendigo. But this was doing something horrible to David. And while he didn't care much for David either, this wasn't something he wanted the old man to go through.

"I've got you." The old man obviously tried to go for a comforting tone. But the crying and heaving nullified that completely. He was trying to keep it together, but failing miserably.

"Stop it, David." Beast Boy tried, one last time. "We can save it. Keep it somewhere it can't harm anyone. It doesn't need to die."
Whatever it was, the old man was in an emotional state. He couldn't and shouldn't be doing something like this. Not now of all times.

"I've got you." David repeated, shouldering the stock. The barrel was aimed straight for the monsters head.

"Raven!" Beast Boy pulled the cloth as hard as he could. It wasn't hard, but still. He coughed. "Raven!" He repeated.

But Death didn't even turn to face him this time. Its gaze remained fixed.

"Raven! Stop this, now!"

"I'm here." The old man said; the rest of the world dead to him. He cocked the rifle.

"Raven! Stop him! Please!"

The man closed his eyes. Fighting back the tears. The gun was shaking in its hands. The monster on the ground was suffering, but increasingly silently. It's woes long turned pity full.

"I'm here Drew." David squinted through the tears in his eyes.

"Raven!"

"I got you."

Beast Boy wanted to call her name again. He was certain she could snap out of it in time, and stop David from making a mistake.

The shot that rang out ended all his hopes, however.

The monster's moaning ceased at once.

But David's wailing grew louder and louder. Once again the rifle clattered to the ground. And the man himself sank down too. He threw his arms over the fallen freak and buried his head in its chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
Next to Beast Boy, the shape of Death was disappearing; transforming into a much more welcome and familiar form. When he could recognize her, Raven seemed distraught and out of place; unaware of her surroundings and confused.

A scuffle made him look up to the edge of the higher area of the chamber. The rest of his friends appeared; all looking like they'd gone through hell themselves.

They'd be wondering what had happened down here. And Beast Boy knew only one thing.

He hadn't a clue himself.


The kid lowered the crowbar and swept the sweat from his brow. It was a cold night out in Blüdhaven. But he was sweating something fierce none the less. It was hard work. But, while to a layman it may have seemed futile, he knew he was making progress. And he'd known this wouldn't be an easy job from the start. To steal the tires of the Batmobile was an unheard task. And to do it with nothing but a crowbar and some wrenches seemed madness. Such a feat was sure to win him favor and renown in the right places of this city.

He'd only arrived here a month ago, and he'd already learned that he needed to prove himself. After winding up in this godforsaken city, a local group of thugs had beaten the crap out of him. Eight on one they'd been. He'd taken down half of them before he went down. But once he had, they'd made him pay for it. His lip was still cracked and the black and blue on his face, as well as most of his upper body, still showed.
The only luck he'd had in this town was the part-time job offered to him at a nearby garage. The pay was bad. But he wasn't in a spot to complain about this. He suspected his boss knew he was only fifteen and was lying about his age, despite the fact that he was tall for his age. Good luck getting employment as a mechanic anywhere else as a fifteen year old orphan, high-school drop-out.
Yes, the pay was bad. But at least it was something. He couldn't afford rent, but the abandoned apartment he'd found and had been squating in had protected him from some of the bad weather. Even so, he'd managed not to give in to the temptation of the druglord's den a few blocks over. Any money he didn't spend on food or water, he tried to save. No use if it winded up in his veins. He wasn't going to end up like his mother; dead by OD.

No, he had his eyes on bigger things. An apartment. A car of his own. A life.

And first of all; a nice wooden bat so he could get his stuff and cash back, along with a sense of satisfaction as he made sure the miscreants wouldn't be able to ever jump anyone again. It would be too hard to do with broken kneecaps.

And if he went over to S-man and his crew, with the four tires of the Batmobile; they'd be impressed. They were scum too, but he'd have scum on his side when he went out for the lowlifes who'd jumped him. And perhaps he could get some more lucrative offers during his down time from work. Stealing car-radios wasn't doing much more than keeping him alive. But if he showed his full potential tonight; he'd be breaking and entering the finest mansions with S-man's crew.

Only so long as he had to, to get settled and even. After that he'd be done with the underbelly. These things were necessary. But only so long as he could justify them.

He didn't stop to think how long he'd be able to justify himself. He couldn't. If he did, he was lost already.
He turned back to the job at hand. One second he had to spend admiring the craftsmanship behind the batmobile. It was long and sleek. Completely black and armored for war. Four doors without handles, only noticeable by the faintest of lines. And an exhaust-pipe looking like a miniature rocket, sticking out the back. It was kind of a shame to deface such a monument. But it had to be done.

All of a sudden goosebumps crawled up his arms and neck. There'd been a sound. Behind him, he'd been sure of it. Soft and barely audible. But he'd always had good senses.

As he quickly turned, the crowbar swung. And hit nothing. Surprised and embarrassed, he looked around him. The alleyway had been abandoned. As it had been when he started this job. No matter how deep he peered, there was nothing there.

"Huh." He mumbled to himself, and turned back to the bat mobile.

But between him and it, now a tall and silent shape towered. Two white unyielding triangles peered down at him as his body was hidden by his cape; like wings wrapped around a vampire. He'd known the Bat was real. He'd heard of him in Gotham quite a bit. He'd met people who'd met him and swore by how dangerous he was. His father, not the least of all. His father had told him, in one of his drunken stupors, all about the terrifying caped crusader and how he'd seemed like a one-man army. And now, he'd even been trying to steal his wheels. No, there had not been a doubt in his mind that the Batman was real. But it only now, now that he was standing right in front of him, sank in just how really real the legend was.

The kid tried to swing the crowbar, but a hand shot out of the pillar-shape and grabbed him by the wrist. Without saying a word and without any sign of mercy, the hand twisted. The pain shot through his entire arm and he found he couldn't hold onto the crowbar any longer. It clattered to the ground.

Rather than give up, however, the kid twisted his body along with the way the crime-fighter bended his arm and in doing so managed to swing his foot at his foe. He managed to knock one of his feet of the ground and soon the dark knight sank to one knee.
Underneath that terrifying, stoic mask, he could see a small smile. As if the man was surprised or perhaps even impressed. Yet he didn't let it bother him for too long. He sent his free fist for the man's smug face. But it came to a stop in his free hand's open palm instead. The man's gloved fingers clenched around his closed fist and a squeezed. The pressure alone wasn't enough to break his fingers, but it still hurt as hell.
In desperation he raised his knee, hoping to strike the Batman in the chest or his chin perhaps. But the masked man countered by knocking it aside with his elbow; the kid was tugged and pulled off balance. And before he knew it, he'd been tossed on his back, helpless as the bane of Gotham's underbelly rose to his feet. He had the crowbar in his hand and tossed it aside; deeper into the alleyway.

"You should go home kid." The batman spoke in a rough demeanor. He tapped a button on one of his gloves and the doors of the batmobile opened. "Your parents must be worried about you."

The Batman bent down again, picking up something the kid hadn't seen until now. The rush of adrenaline and rage that always came over him in a fight only now subsiding just a bit as it was clear that his enemy wasn't going to kick him while he was down. It was a man; he saw, tied and bound.
"I don't have a home." The angry kid spoke as he sat upright while the Bat stuffed the unconscious man into the back of his car. "I don't have parents."

He didn't know why he'd said that. Perhaps it was the disorienting confusion coming from not getting his teeth knocked in when on the ground, as life had taught him what a logical consequence was.

The batman turned. Slowly and deliberately. He pressed another button and all the doors closed, but the one to the driver's seat. As the kid rose to his feet to face him, he realized this vigilante was choosing his words carefully.

"Then find something more constructive to do with your time." The batman decided, with a stern voice.

He knew he shouldn't be pushing his luck. But he never could help run his mouth. "Tell me." He said. "When you get home tonight. And you pull of that mask and go lie in your bed or sit in your couch; warm and with hot food in your belly. Will you look back at this moment with pride? Will the memory of you holding back and not beating me up but rising above it be your moment of bliss as you drift off to dreamland? If so, don't hold back. I don't want to owe anything to the likes of you."

"Just what do you think I am, kid?" The Bat's tough voice asked, challenging him.

"A half measure." The words escaped him in anger before he fully well realized them. "You beat up thugs, murderers and rapists. But you won't go as far as you have to. You won't make sure someone can't kill or mangle anymore. A city bleeds and you offer it a band aid."

"Murder can't be justified with murder." The Bat replied sternly, looking down at him. "And everyone deserves a chance to learn from their mistakes."

"Oh learn?" Despite himself, the kid laughed. "Learn?! Oh, now I get it. When you beat up my dad when he was working for Two-face, you were giving him a chance to learn! When you made him botch his mission the reason why you didn't kill him was to give him another chance. He took that chance, you know? And got home and beat the crap out of my mom and me. Two days straight. Before Two-face decided that he'd screwed up for the last time. The coin must've flipped the wrong side, because he was called in for a job, and that was the last we ever heard of him. You don't kill, because it's honorable not to…? Yet you count on others to do your dirty work for you, don't you? You're a coward. Hiding behind your mask. Fighting from the dark. You are nothing but a coward, aren't you?"

Even though he'd seen it not long before, it was hard to imagine that small smile on the vigilante's mouth. It was a line as flat as can be. And his eyes pierced through the triangular slits with an intense underlying discontent.

He was saved, however, by two bundles of light shining down the alleyway. He heard the policemen's voices carry through the narrow path. Their silhouettes black against the street's lighting.

"Hey you two!" One of them called out.

"Put your hands up!" The other exclaimed.

Before he knew what was happening, the Batman had him by the collar and dragged him lower, guiding him to the car.

"What the…?" He managed.

"Get in!" The Bat ordered.

"What?!"

"You want to go with them?" He asked harshly.

"Hold it! Don't move!" One of the cops yelled.

He had only a split second to consider this. Going with the cops would give him a lot of trouble. He'd 'borrowed' the gear for nicking the batmobile's tires from his boss, without the man's knowledge. That would not go down well. And on top of that, as a fifteen year old, he'd not only get fired but wind up in some orphanage. He crawled further into the car decisively and sat on the passenger's seat.

The cops were shouting some things as they ran into the alleyway as the Batman seated himself behind the wheel.

"Hold on." He ordered, kicking the powerful engine into gear. The door closed as he rode forward.

He didn't slow down. And for a moment the kid was certain they'd see a red hood on the car within moments. But at what seemed like the last possible second, the two officers flattened themselves against the wall, allowing them to pass.

There was hardly any traffic out this late at night. Some cabs fairing over the drunk and broken population of Blüdhaven. But that was about it. They made good time and the closest they got to sirens, was hearing them in the distance.

For once, he didn't feel like running his mouth. He was shocked and in awe, staring both at the city speeding by and the controls and sophisticated display inside the sleek batmobile. Most impressive indeed.

After a while, he finally managed to tear himself away from it and returned his gaze to the backseat driver; still out cold. It was a scrawny man. Balding and bruised pretty badly.

"So who's he, anyways?" He asked.

"None of your concern." The Bat answered.

And for the longest time, that was the full extent of their conversation. They didn't speak until the Bat found another abandoned street and pulled over brusquely. The door opened on the passenger's side and for the first time since he'd clambered into the driver's seat, the batman turned to him.

"Get out." He ordered.

The kid licked his teeth. "Yeah." He said. What did he expect? He raised his hands as a sign of agreement and stepped out into the cold night air. "Thanks for the ride, I guess."

"Hey." The batman's deep voice made him turn around.
He was holding something. A wallet.

"You get your act together, or I'll do it for you..." The batman said, flipping open the wallet.

"Hey!" The kid said, recognizing it as his own. He patted his pants in futility. It told him what he already knew.

"Jason Todd." The batman finished, and tossed him his wallet.

The passenger seat's door closed quickly and a flame erupted from the back of the batmobile. Within moments the entire thing raced down the empty street, the flame tailing behind and the engine roaring loudly into the night. It was enough to drown out Jason's curses.


They were all seated by the bank of the river. Tired. Defeated. None feeling too good about themselves. With their aircraft destroyed, there was nothing to do but wait for Nightwing to finish calling in a ride. His first attempt at contacting the Batman had been a failure. So he was now trying Batgirl instead. For some reason he'd distanced himself a few feet from the group. And for another reason, Starfire had trailed behind him.

But Beast Boy wasn't too concerned about that. Raven was finally finishing up healing the wound in his gut. And the silence between them preoccupied his mind. There was a silence between all of them. Even Cyborg, usually life of the party, was down. He spent most of his time seated on a distant rock, looking disinterestedly at where his hand and arm had been torn off.

"You sure you can keep doing this?" He asked, feeling like he had to say something.
"What?" Raven, kneeling beside him as he was seated on a piece of driftwood, looked up.

"I said: You sure you can keep doing this?" His eyes darted down to her hands hovering over the wound. "It's just that healing takes a lot out of you, I know. And after what you've done for David."

"Yeah. No." She avoided his gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks Beast Boy. Thanks for being concerned. But I'm fine."

"You okay?" He asked.

"I said I'm fine." She said again, a little agitated this time.

"It wasn't your fault, Raven."

"All better." She said, obviously ignoring him.
She moved her hands through his torn unitard, he could see she was right. The flesh was softer and more fragile where it had been. But that would pass. As would the pain. But that felt like it could take a while. He laid his hand on the new patch of green skin to ease it a bit. It didn't do much.

Raven sat down next to him. She seemed tense. Worried and even, if he knew her well enough, a tad ashamed. But he couldn't find it in himself to push his luck any further. They'd have to talk about what had happened in the cave. And sooner rather than later. But not right now. It was all too fresh. And he'd vowed to push less in their relationship.

So they settled for an awkward, painful silence.

Before them sat David. He had been the most quiet of all so far. Nightwing and Raven had puzzled out everything about the Wendigo and grandfather and twin without his help. He'd been catatonic when they'd brought him out of the cave and Raven had tended to his wounds. The gashes across his face were still red. But their bleeding had stopped. Just like with all his other cuts and bruises. They'd placed the rifle by his side, but he hadn't looked at it once. The only thing he'd said so far was, when Nightwing said he'd be calling in a pick-up, that he wasn't coming with.

But he seemed to be doing better now. A bit at least. On the rocky shore he sat, staring in front of him with a dead expression, occasionally tossing a pebble from the small pile in his hand into the river.

Perhaps it was most inappropriate. But Beast Boy felt a question burning inside him. He had to, before he'd never see the man again.

"David..." He called.

The man, about to throw a pebble, stopped. That was all the recognition he gave. But it was enough.

"I gotta ask you something."

"I told you. I'm not going with you. And I'm not changing my mind." He answered. His tone of voice with the curtness as ever, but lacking the pride and disdain it used to.

"Believe me, I don't think anyone can change your mind ever. Though I don't get why you would want to stay."

"I have dead to bury." He answered, still staring ahead.

"We'd help with that."

"I need to do this alone."

"Ask Rob… I mean Nightwing, and we might wait for you."

"No… You have a world to save. And I've got to think some things over. Besides, I never needed help going in or getting out of these woods. I'm too old to change my habits now."

"Yeah but…" He wondered if he should be so blunt, even as he spoke the words. "But you'll die this time. You've lost most of your gear and shells in the river and what clung to you suffered water damage. And you're hurt. Raven can patch you up, but you'll feel the strain for some time."

"It's true." The girl next to him helped. "I bet you won't be climbing out of here anytime soon. And you can't make a fire here."

"You'll freeze." Beast Boy added. "Or, if you make it long enough, you'll starve..."

David closed his eyes and frowned deeply for a few moments. It took Beast Boy a moment to understand the inappropriateness of mentioning this. He sighed.

Reopening his eyes, but still not looking at either of them, David replied. "We all go someday, kid. What matters is that in the time we can, for as long as we can, we do what's worth doing. If we didn't, we might as well be dead already."

"You're not coming. I get that." Beast Boy resigned after a few moments. "But I need to ask you something before we leave." When the old man didn't speak, he took that as his cue to continue. "You knew what happened to Drew, your brother. You knew it was him." David's eyes grew misty as his head bobbed up and down gently. "How?" Beast Boy asked. "How did you get yourself to do it?"

"Beast Boy!" Raven tried to hush him angrily.

He understood. It was inappropriate. But he had to know.

"It's okay." David whispered. "You offered to patch him up. Put him somewhere he couldn't hurt people. Feed him. Do what you can for him. Perhaps we could even try to bring him back. Heh." He dropped the pebbles from his hand and watched them fall. "Some darkness you can't come back from. And even if you could, could you wish it upon whatever managed to return to the light? That horror and guilt? And the knowledge of what you've done?"

"But..." He stumbled. "But you loved him. He was your twin. He was part of you! How could you get yourself to do that? Rather than continue to fight and hope for him?"

"He meant the world to me. And you ask me, after seeing the monster he'd become, how I could have ended him if I loved him so. I ask you: how could I not?"