A week earlier.

"Sloppy."

As was his way, Slade stood with arms crossed and glared typically at his apprentice. Having just been electrocuted, Robin lay flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him and stars dancing across his sight. Echoes of electric embers sizzled on his skin.

Every heave of his chest was met with a pinch from the aggravating collar and there was an unpleasantly loud pulse beating against the restraints on his wrists.

Although hidden beneath the monstrous thing, Robin's neck was painted in a myriad of bruises and welts. Dark purples and sickly yellows peeked from the neckline and spread up his Adam's apple and down his sternum. Perpetual rings of angry red ran around his throat and forearms—another gift from the shackles.

"Again," Slade barked, looming over Robin.

Despite the horror, the boy merely shook his dark head and ran a hand over his tired face. After a week of constant electric shock, he was used to the gut-twisting, spine-numbing sensation and stalling Slade would only earn him another 40 volts of pain.

He pressed his heels into the mat as he made to get back up, swallowing the groan that threatened to escape his charred lips.

Robin had graduated from the gymnastic course and had moved onto hand-to-hand combat. The atrium had been cleared of bars, pommel horses, and beams and was now littered with weapons and other dangerous gadgets.

A wooden rack of bo-staffs leaned against the far wall while training automatons hung lifelessly from the ceiling. Their robotic bodies swung disturbingly above his head, ready to crash down upon him at Slade's behest.

The atmosphere was unusually dim today—even for the haunt—and he was having trouble finding his targets and minding his toes. Even worse, every time he threw a punch or feinted or blocked, he could feel the restraints digging into his skin, restricting his full range of motion.

Slade, of course, had little sympathy for such trivial complaints. His apprentice would just have to get used to the new additions unless he wanted to be a lightning rod for the rest of his days below ground.

Robin, meanwhile, still had no idea what the villain expected him to do, but he dreaded the day when he finally found out. What if Slade wanted him to hurt someone? Or worse, kill? What if he never escaped this place? What would he become? Who would he become?

His haunted blue eyes glanced up at the black-and-copper mask as he got to his feet. He suppressed a shudder.

His hands and arms still bore the scars from his crazed tantrum, a plethora of scabs. His room was a different story. The shattered remains of his desk and worktable had been cleared out, but Slade had not replaced his destroyed furniture. He had merely flayed the skin from the boy's body and revoked his nighttime bathroom privileges for the foreseeable future.

Indeed, it was probably for the best that Robin didn't have anything breakable near him right now.

The horrible rage and pain that he had felt when he had first found out about the shackles had dimmed to a hollow ache in his chest. Likewise, a bit more of his spirit had withered away. He found himself resisting less and less as the days bled together. There was only so much a human being could stand.

Although terrible in every sense of the word, Slade's gift didn't change anything. The boy wonder's objectives were still the same: find a way to save his friends—preferably before he lost his mind.

Yet no matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn't think of any suitable plan of action. The collar may not have transformed the game, but it had definitely decreased his odds of winning it. How was he supposed to fight Slade and himself?

That's just it, a dark voice snapped at him. You can't. Face it, kid. You lost.

Smothering his maddening pessimism, he refocused his thoughts on the task before him and began to stretch as he readied himself for the next round. Slade watched calmly, eerily, from the sideline and Robin tried to ignore the weight of the villain's familiar stare as he touched his toes and rotated his shoulders.

His hands and feet were dressed in the usual linen compresses but they were quickly disintegrating after the last few hours of sparring. He tried to adjust the bindings back into place as best he could, but they refused to stick properly to his sweaty skin.

His ribs were all but healed or, at least, not a nuisance any longer; he could breathe without impediment again. The blisters he had gotten from the first few days had finally hardened into thick-skinned calluses and while much of his body was still covered in scrapes and varying shades of black and blue, Robin was—for the most part—whole. The electric shocks took the air from his lungs and rattled his nervous system, but Slade never fried him long enough to cause any permanent damage.

He ripped off the athletic tape with a scowl and decided to try his luck with bare knuckles.

"Are you done preening or should I get you a mirror, pretty bird?" Slade quipped.

Robin snatched his bo-staff off the ground in response and made a show of twirling it with masterful ease before aiming it at his opponent.

Slowly, methodically, the villain unsheathed his own weapon and held it in a quiet grip at his side. His stature appeared unruffled—practically serene—but Robin knew Slade's game by now. A lightning-fast serpent lurked beneath the rigid façade.

Knees supple and strong, Robin dug his battle-worn toes into the plastic mat. A small thrill trickled up his spine as he awaited the inevitable. Talons versus fangs, the two faced off once more, but Robin knew his serpentine partner wouldn't play fair.

A heavy hush settled, stealing sound and stoking suspense.

Robin didn't have to wait long. Slade struck first—hard and true. His weapon was a silver blur, whistling through the air. It would have sent the boy wonder flying backward, but instead, Robin stood his ground and the staves clashed, clanging.

Slade applied a mounting pressure, but Robin held firm. His arms shook alarmingly but his stance remained sound, rooted. Quick to the chase, Slade pushed off and swiped at Robin's feet, trying to upend him.

Again, Robin blocked him. The force jangled his bones.

A droplet of sweat sped down his temple and his jet-black hair clung to his forehead. After another long moment, a grudging flash of approval glittered across Slade's eye before he leapt backward—disappearing into the deep shadows.

Robin didn't pursue. He lowered his head and held his bo-staff evenly, trying to keep his breath even and mind clear. His foe came from the left. He pivoted out of Slade's reach. A sparkle of steel came for his head. He bent over backwards and felt a breeze caress his cheek. The staff had just missed him.

Per usual, the fight became one-sided, but unlike all the other times, Slade hadn't managed to land a single hit on his apprentice.

The villain jeered and scoffed at Robin's supposed cowardice, trying to bait him into doing something stupid. He called him all sorts of horrible names, but the boy remained quiet and untouchable. He refused to fall for the same old traps; his hot head had gotten him into enough trouble.

The two danced the same deadly waltz for an hour. A month ago, Robin would have been dead on his feet and, indeed, he was having a hard time feeling his toes, but the uncomfortable sensation was not new. Even if he couldn't feel the ground, he trusted that his body still knew how to leap and land.

At one point, Slade grew weary of Robin's inaction and decided to force his hand by sending a battalion of robots his way. Robin took them all down with relative ease, but had no more stamina left when his master came to finish the job.

He soon found himself on the floor again. Defeated, he waited for the electrocution, but it never came.

"Better," Slade commended gruffly, sheathing his weapon. "You're almost ready.""

Robin grunted to a sitting position.

"Ready for what?" he asked, ruffling his sweaty hair.

"Your first mission, of course."

Any color left in his pallid face soon drained away into a sheet of bloodless white. His hands began to quake.

Slade gave a happy sigh.

"I'll go get the scissors."

Presently

A black cloud crept across the full moon on spider's legs.

A crow squawked to the evening sky and a chorus of caws responded to his cry.

A rat scurried down below in an alleyway as it scoured the ground for crumbs.

The Wayne Enterprises neon sign blared boldly in the dark, buzzing and whirring. It perched upon a skyscraper that stood shoulder-to-shoulder with equally intimidating neighbors. Together, the buildings formed a massive wall of glass windows, steel skeletons, and concrete rooftops.

Jump City's residents may have been asleep, but the night was still alive and young—especially at Wayne Enterprises.

A bone-rattling alarm whined within its corporate walls, catching the thief inside off-guard. Cloaked in black, he swore under his breath and snatched the object of his desire from the cracked safe.

"Code Red! Code Red! Level 13 has been compromised!"

The thief spun around and cursed again.

One of the sentries he had downed earlier was conscious once more…and he was tattling. Rottweiler barks and policemen footfalls could be heard in the distance.

No time to waste, the thief dashed through the open door, giving a swift, brutal kick to the babbling security guard on his way out. The man stopped talking as his helmeted head smashed into the wall, making a ruckus.

The incoming footsteps picked up the pace, the dogs howled, but the thief was gone by the time they reached the thirteenth floor. All that the watchmen could find was shattered glass and a dislodged ventilation grate.

"He's goin' for the roof!"

Indeed, he was.

Against the humming, blinding backdrop of the Wayne Enterprises sign, the thief punched through another vent and leapt onto the rooftop. Crouched like a cat, he looked side-to-side before continuing his escape.

As he dashed for the edge, he reached for his thick, silver utility belt; however, before he could snatch a gadget from it, a battle-cry pierced the air from behind.

Pausing, he peered over his shoulder.

A half-teen, half-robot was surging toward him, his mighty, mechanical fist raised.

A green cheetah was hot on the cyborg's heels, a growl rumbling from his spotted chest.

A beautiful girl was floating behind the pair, her exotic eyes and clenched fists blazed with emerald flames.

Finally, a cloaked figure stood off to the side. Unlike the others, she did not glare at the thief with determined hatred but with shock. Dark, magical shadows sprouted from her like starlit wings.

She opened her mouth to speak. The thief bolted. He didn't want to hear what she had to say.

"Freeze!"

"Halt!"

"Wait!"

He grabbed his grappling gun from his girdle, pointed it at the nearest rooftop, and fired. A twisting wire shot out and its hook snagged the edge of the neighboring building with a solid clank. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to make his grand escape just yet. The untimely arrival of the Titans had slowed his timetable.

He wrapped his end of the rope around a nearby pipe and turned to face his opponents.

As soon as he did, the cheetah pounced.

The thief swerved expertly out of the way before the claws could rend him, but it cost him his anonymity as he side-stepped into the neon light.

As expected, everything froze. The green cheetah skidded to a halt and transformed into a scrawny, gangly preteen with equally vibrant skin. His young face was slack with astonishment. The cyborg slowly lowered his arm and unclenched his fist. He wore a similar expression to his emerald-colored friend.

"Robin?!" Starfire gasped.

Her furious, flaming eyes immediately dimmed. She landed on the concrete with wobbling legs as she gazed in disbelief upon her no longer missing leader. Even from where he stood, Robin could see the hurt as clear as daylight on her face.

"Not a word, Robin," Slade's voice hissed in his ear through an unseen transmission. "They're not your friends, anymore."

The rock in his stomach grew heavier. He swallowed his tongue and clenched his teeth in a sneer. The Titans kept their distance, hardly believing.

"Dude, Robin!" Beast Boy exclaimed as he rubbed his wide eyes. "Where have you been? What's going on? And what's with the outfit?!

Robin had left his familiar, brightly-colored green and red uniform behind.

In its place was a form-fitting, long-sleeved body suit with metallic trappings. The chest-piece was dyed half black and half sickly bronze. A silver 'S' decorated the left breast and his forearms, biceps, and shins were protected with inch-thick, iron braces.

A steel collar covered his neckline—from his Adam's apple to his clavicle—and his wrists were shackled with the same, intimidating material. He wore gloves, but slits of pale, bruised skin peeked through from where the black sleeves ran short. He wore heavy plated, leather boots and his familiar half-mask was trimmed with polished copper.

Worse, his normal mess of teased, spiked hair was far tamer than the Titans remembered.

His head had been shaved on either side but a tangle of wild locks still remained on top. It was clear that someone had tried to slick it back, but hadn't succeeded completely in doing so. Stray strands of jet-black hair bled over his forehead and stuck to his shorn scalp.

Without his boyish mane and flamboyant decor, Robin had gained a grizzled edge. His cheekbones and jaw were skeletal. Old and new scars ran helter-skelter across his ashen face. Every time he clenched his teeth, one could trace the movement of the bones as they churned from his chin to his temple. Although his mask hid the deep shadows under his lackluster eyes, Raven could sense his exhaustion...and his palpable rage.

He had become a virtual mini-me of Slade—with the added bonus of a second eye.

Beast Boy's question hung in the air, unanswered; Robin's snarling lips never cracked open once.

"Robin, c'mon!" Cyborg tried, taking a step forward. "What's goin' on?!"

As soon as the robotic teenager picked his electrical foot up, Robin struck. Within seconds, Cyborg was on his back, skidding across the rooftop pavement with a pained grunt. Starfire gasped. Raven said nothing but merely stared, entranced by the nightmare.

"What is your problem?!" Beast Boy cried as black talons extended from his nailbeds and sharpened fangs grew over his innocent lips.

Not wasting time, Robin threw down a smoke pellet and disappeared into a haze of thick fog. Hidden from view, he unhitched his rope and left the stunned Titans behind.

"Wait! No!"

"Robin, come back!"

"Don't leave!"

"ROBIN!"

The saddened cries of his friends graced his ears as he sped away into the night.

He didn't look back.