"Temperature is dropping. I'm not sure if I can see this ever stopping. Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thoughts. No. You are all that I got. No. Don't forget about me."
The next day
Robin went from one nightmare to another.
The screams of the man he killed were burned into his psyche. Raven's promises fell on deaf ears; he couldn't hear her reassurances over the sobs of his victim.
He withdrew deep into himself. Like a dying star, his core became a knot of anger and pain and sorrow while his shell exuded an apathetic light. He was disappearing. The remorse never came. He justified his kill and claimed he did it to protect those he loved.
Perhaps this was true, but the day was fast approaching when he wouldn't be able to hide behind that excuse any longer. Slade was promising a high body count. The greater good would turn against him as the numbers evened out.
If he was truly a hero, he would have sacrificed himself—and the Titans—before destroying an innocent life. It was the contract they all signed, the unspoken bargain of every supposed pursuer of justice.
But he couldn't do it.
Call it love, call it selfish, call it ignorance; Robin realized he would do anything to save them—including murder. Bruce would have excommunicated him for such blasphemy. Nevertheless, it was this terrible, bittersweet truth that Slade exploited to the fullest. As long as he held the Titans over the boy wonder's head, he could make Robin do anything and he knew it.
There was no longer a third way. Robin stood before two paths that went in opposite directions: a devoted love and an idealistic code. Yesterday had sealed his fate. He chose love and, therefore, chose to become the Devil's apprentice.
Despite the decision, he began to resent those who had forced him down that despicable road.
While he was drowning in an endless, black sea of horrors, the Titans appeared oblivious. It was only after a month of Hell that Raven decided to show up and, even then, she was powerless to help him. He had literally killed for them, but what were they doing for him? Did they even care? They knew. They had to know that he was Slade's prisoner. They saw the bruises, saw the hallmarks of a suffering slave, and yet they did nothing.
What were they waiting for? What were they doing? How could they leave him? Did they honestly believe he had turned evil? Just like that?
Even worse, with Raven's discovery the Titans had to be aware of all his secrets: the probes, the collar, the turmoil, everything!
Where are you?! he called in his mind for the millionth time that day, hoping she would answer. RAVEN!
All was silent—a vacant deity.
He slid to the ground and put his head in his hands. His eyes were wide and dry. He was frightened. The awful prophecy hung over him like a guillotine blade. If he resisted, people died. If he complied, people died. Death's train sped on, undaunted, as it careened toward him.
He would have to be ruthless, merciless—something he wasn't sure he could be.
He bit his scabbed lip and sniffed. He ran quivering fingers through his tousled hair. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. He could not be divided. If he defied Slade, he would have to accept that he could not save his family. He would have to come to terms with their demise, with a lonely lifetime.
This idea was impossible for him to stomach. So, he continued down his chosen path. His heart gave a final twist. Demoralized, he leaned his head against the brick.
"Raven," he pleaded to his bedroom's curved, cobbled ceiling. "Don't leave me here alone..."
The atrium was pitch-black save one, bright light.
Slade and Robin stood side-by-side, illuminated.
In front of them was another topless man, stretched out on a metal gurney. He was healthier, fresher. His skin was tanned and whole, albeit dirty. He had a young face, but he was surely in his 30s or early 40s. Crow's feet sprouted from the edges of his eyes. There was no wedding band on his finger. He had the aura of a beach bachelor—a common sight in Jump City.
Fading tan lines decorated his lean torso. He wore slouchy, cargo shorts and had several woven, leather bracelets tied around his handcuffed wrists. His dirty-blonde hair was chin-length and tangled. Matted strands stuck to his sweaty forehead. His cries were muffled by copious amounts of duck-tape.
"First lesson," Slade announced, crossing his arms.
Tears dripped down the man's leathered cheeks and plinked as they hit the steel worktable.
Robin looked away, focusing his entire attention on the empty dark. He was dressed in the usual: sweats, no shirt, athletic tape wrapped around his hands and feet. There were several layers of bags under his eyes—he hadn't slept since he fainted.
Raven. Raven. Raven. went the mantra in his mind. Help. Help. Help.
"Now, Robin, pay attention," Slade censured, walking around to the head of the table. "This is important."
The villain placed uncaring hands on the man's sunburned shoulders. Grudgingly, Robin turned his head. He focused only on the black-and-copper mask, ignoring the trembling victim beneath.
"While breaking a neck is certainly fun, it's far too unreliable," Slade continued with an amused tone. "The amount of strength it requires makes it almost impossible. That's why, today, we'll be working with knives."
Slade gestured to the surgeon's stand beside him. An impressive assortment of blades sat upon it, ready and waiting.
"Knives are versatile, easy to use, and provide endless possibilities," the villain explained matter-of-factly. "For example…"
Slade snatched up a sleek dagger. As he did, a bead of sweat sped down the back of Robin's neck. His apprehension was nothing compared to the bound-and-gagged man's. The poor thing began to thrash and yank helplessly against the restraints. His smothered shrieks echoed.
Raven. Raven. Raven!
Unperturbed, Slade rested a steadying hand on the victim's chest. He lowered the knife and positioned it just above the right eyebrow.
"The trigeminal nerve," he clarified as he tapped the tip of the blade on the man's forehead. "Not fatal, but it has its uses."
Accentuating that point, he sliced into the skin. Instantly, the man began to scream—a beastly, guttural one. His back arched and his fettered head convulsed. His eyes squeezed shut. The cut was small, but the pain wasn't. Red tears dripped down into his orbital socket and leaked into his hairline.
RAVEN! RAVEN! RAVEN! PLEASE! Robin begged in his head.
Ignoring all this, Slade then proceeded to give a lesson in anatomy. He used the dagger as if it were a teacher's pointer, referring to key arteries and nerves all along the body. He explained the benefits and negatives of each: the pain they caused, how fast they bled out, which one to aim for, and so on.
All the complex yet similar-sounding names blurred together.
"Let's review," Slade said after he reached the bottoms of the feet. "Which artery supplies blood to the face and neck?"
Robin furrowed his brow. Although his expression was mundane, his thoughts raced and danced in a chaotic whirlwind. He went with his gut.
"Er...the carotid artery?" he guessed, trying to keep his voice from cracking.
Slade's eye shimmered cryptically.
"Excellent, Robin," he finally praised, stepping back into place beside him.
His relief was short-lived as Slade offered him the knife.
"Now cut it."
Lip trembling, Robin gingerly took the handle of the blade. His hand shook. He felt his face pale as blood fled from it. He worried that he would faint again. His mouth went dry. The knife was supposed to be light but it felt like an anchor in his hand, dragging him to the darkest parts of himself.
He turned toward victim #2 and every thought sped from his head.
He swallowed and tightened his grasp on the hilt, trying not to drop it.
"I'm waiting," Slade reminded him cruelly.
Still Robin made no movement. He was frozen. This was so much worse than last time. Before, he had been running on pure adrenaline and a possible concussion. The kill had been spur of the moment, a crime of deranged passion.
But this…this was methodical slaughter.
Robin took a half-step back.
Slade made a noise of frustration.
"Must we go through this again?" he snapped.
Disgusted and infuriated, he uncovered the control panel beneath his armored forearm. He pressed a button and the red joystick that had haunted Robin's memories sprang out. It rested unassumingly in Slade's eager palm.
"Ten…nine…" the villain began to countdown without warning.
"Wait!" Robin stammered.
YOU PROMISED RAVEN! YOU PROMISED!
"…seven…six…five…"
Without another second's hesitation, Robin pressed the blade into the man's neck and slashed. He saw the silver tip of the dagger disappear underneath the gushing red and emerge, stained. The man's surprised cries turned to gurgles as he drowned. Blood spurted into the air. Robin flinched as droplets sprayed his face. The blood was disturbingly warm as it dribbled down his cheeks—a summertime rain. A crimson, toothless smile stretched across the man's throat, spitting scarlet.
Robin watched in mute shock as eyes that once held life and purpose dimmed to glassy orbs. The flooding river of blood slowed to a steady stream. The man's sun-kissed head slumped over. His dead stare was fixed on Robin—an accusation.
Stunned, the boy wonder had little time to mourn.
He soon found himself on the floor. A cold hand wrapped around his skull and forced him viciously into the concrete. The bloody knife flew from his grasp and clanged somewhere in the distance. His cheek bruised and frayed as it skidded against the rock, stinging.
"When I tell you to do something, you do it," Slade's voice ordered mercilessly from above. "Hesitate again, and my thumb might just slip. Am I understood?"
His throat shot, Robin gave a jerk of his chin.
"What do we say?" Slade patronized.
"Yes...master…" Robin hissed.
"Good boy."
The pressure on his head lifted. He recoiled from the ground and scrambled to stand. He shook his head and touched his cheek, assessing the damage. His hands came back stained with red, but most of it wasn't his.
A consistent current of blood poured over the table's edge. A small pool was forming on the floor. Slade stood over the corpse, his back to Robin. He had his fingers on either side of the man's jaw, adjusting its position so that he could see the wound better.
"Clean cut…" he observed, entranced. "A little shallow…"
Wincing, Robin wiped the blood off on his pants.
Suddenly a thought sprang into his head as his gaze wandered over to the equipment table. A dozen glittering knives were just within his reach. His eyes flicked from Slade's unaware backside to the tantalizing blades.
Kill him, a dark voice whispered in his ear. Kill him now.
He bit his lip. He wasn't sure. He couldn't. It was impossible, right?
Kill him. You can do it. Kill him.
But...
This could be your only chance! Kill him!
His heart ramped up its speed. His eyes darted back and forth, back and forth. He chewed on his nails. The hilts sparkled, winked, beckoned. If he was fast enough maybe...just maybe...
You're already a murderer. What's one more?
That sealed it. He pounced and his palm curled around cold steel.
Slade was waiting for him. Robin would have been a fool not to try—and his apprentice was no simpleton.
He spun around just as Robin was about to bring the weapon crashing down. He snatched the boy's wrist and held him back easily. With slow, deliberate movements, he pried Robin's hand open and the knife clattered to the ground. The apprentice was still no match for the master. Robin gave a useless tug, caught red-handed.
In response, Slade pulled him closer until their mismatched faces were mere inches from one another.
"Robin," he whispered and for once Robin could feel the chill of his breath. "That was vicious, dishonorable, and ruthless…"
The villain then socked him in the gut.
Robin fell to all fours, gasping. The air was stolen from his lungs. It had been awhile since he had had the pleasure of receiving Slade's full strength. The punch was otherworldly—a complete stunner. His stomach was throbbing as if ready to explode. A gnawing hurt was overtaking his senses, dulling his mind.
"…excellent work," Slade congratulated from above, obviously pleased with himself. "You're becoming more like me every second."
Horrified, Robin hung his head.
He couldn't deny it.