A/N: Setting the stage. Sorry for the wait! :) Enjoy.
"A white, blank page and a swelling rage, rage. You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink...So, tell me now where was my fault in loving you with my whole heart?"
Driving east past the city limits, urban complexes and skyscrapers disappear and give way to rolling plains that stretch far into the horizon. The smog of Jump City dissipates and the sky is as clear as crystals. Vineyards crop up every now and then. Their rustic manors recline casually on distant hills, basking in the temperate sun.
The highways thin into two lanes and the grass is as green as jade. Flocks of carefree birds float from perch to perch, dancing against a blue backdrop. There is not a whiff of a cloud—a calm, quiet sea. Caressing breezes take the edge off the heat and leave one feeling perfectly balanced.
However, the further one travels, the fertile landscape grows barren. Yellow weeds spread infectiously and the sun becomes an oppressor. Golden, green hills dwindle into a flat, dry desert. Puffs of disturbed sand drift along the ground like tumbleweeds. Spiny, hostile cacti decorate the roadside.
There is no civilization to be seen except for the occasional, dilapidated pit stop.
It was here, in this wasteland, where the Titans now placed their last hope.
A top secret, government bunker—christened Area 59—was stationed out amongst the scorpions and snakes and sand. It was a community of granite squares in the center a barb-wired, electric fence moat. Machine-gun patrollers strolled in efficient circles around the complex. Black, intimidating jeeps roared from time to time as they exited and entered through the carefully guarded gates.
All this indicated impenetrability.
One would have to be insane to try and take on AK-47s, iron-jawed soldiers, snarling German shepherds, unblinking security cameras, and several layers of lead-thick defenses alone. It would take an army to neutralize this impressive fortification.
Nevertheless, these odds did not stop Robin.
His master had ordered him here, and so here he would go. It did not matter if he wanted to or not. It did not matter that he would have a hundred guns pointed at his head or that a successful mission would mean probable disaster for many innocent lives.
These factors were low on Robin's list of priorities.
It had taken six weeks of relentless torture, but Slade had finally broken him. The sharp stings of morality had been blunted to weak nudges. His skin had grown thick and numb.
This is not to say that he was now a dumb devotee, that he had been brainwashed to actually believe the psychopath's lies. No, it was merely that he had been bought and sold; he was merchandise. Property had no soul, had no opinion. It followed the orders of its owner without a conscience or a consciousness.
This simple truth had dawned on him a few days ago.
He had just murdered an older woman—had put a gun to her head and slugged a bullet into her skull. Her brains had splattered all over the floor. The shame and grief came as quickly as they always did, but they were joined by newcomer: annoyance.
What a mess, he had thought with a frown.
The dead woman sprawled at his feet was a nuisance. It would take hours to mop up her blood. Of course he was devastated by her murder at his hands, but why did she have to die so sloppily? Did she know that he would have to pick her brain matter off the floor? That he would have to smell her cremated rot for hours after? That he would be punished if he left any trace of her behind?
This shocking bitterness quickly mortified him and later that night—after he had swept away the last of her remains—he wept confused tears for the pathetic woman. Head buried between his knees, his breathing sounded like a rusty engine as he sobbed. His fingers were embedded in his lank, dirty hair, clutching it viciously.
"I-I'm…a-a-a…m-monst-ter…" he croaked, shoulders shaking.
Salty tears crept out of him and dripped onto the gray rug. With bleary sight, he watched them fall and splatter in a seemingly endless cycle; however, they soon dried up and he was left feeling empty and tired. His brain was a fog of jumbled, terrified angst—his usual state of mind.
The anguish sat on his shoulders like two devils. He felt their fiery paws on his back and buckled under their weight.
Beast Boy. Cyborg. Starfire. Raven. Beast Boy. Cyborg. Starfire. Raven...
He said the names of his friends over and over again to remind himself of why he was here, why he could never be free. He sat in his misery, holding onto the memories of better days like worn rosary beads.
Slade was invincible, unbeatable, unstoppable. Foolishly, Robin had come to this conclusion too late. His arrogance had betrayed him yet again.
It was if he was standing on a precipice, looking down into a bleak, black abyss. The wind howled in his ears and dragged him closer to the edge. He dug his heels in but he couldn't fight against the forces of nature forever. He knew he would fall.
It was only a matter of time. The question was how. Would he oppose Slade until the very end or would he take the plunge with arms opened wide?
Would it be so bad to give in?
His friends actually had a better chance at living if he stopped resisting, right? The less he rebelled against Slade, the less mortal danger the Titans would be in...or so his master claimed.
Epiphany struck him then.
He wiped his wet face and straightened his shoulders. His mouth parted in revelatory awe. His arctic eyes were withdrawn and wide. His thick lashes stuck to his damp lids.
"I...I don't have to fight..." he whispered to himself, to the faded burgundy walls of his bedroom. "...but I can still win..."
Robin went slack against the brick in knee-weakening relief.
He smiled for the first time since he went underground. The grin was lopsided and poorly rendered—a cheap imitation. The dry scabs on his bottom lip split as it stretched. His jaw was out of practice, it shifted too far over to the left. His teeth were yellowed, decrepit. A little voice whispered that he was a fool, but it was easily ignored.
It was time to accept reality and move on. The bars that held him here weren't budging; he was utterly imprisoned. The door was locked from the outside and the warden had swallowed the key.
There was no escape from this place and all the time Robin had spent ramming headlong against the cage only did him, and his friends, more harm.
For the first time in his crime-fighting career, Robin raised the white flag and conceded the battle. It was over. He was tired. The enemy had won. He could either fight to the death or surrender and salvage what little of his strength and life he had left.
The Visigoths were at the gates; the glory that was Rome was gone. Robin traded his life for that of his people and accepted eternal slavery under a new crown. Gone were the days of peace. A new era was rising, had already risen.
So, he left the comfort of his city and bowed before his new lord; he kissed Slade's feet. In return, his new master awarded him with chains and dragged the boy wonder from his home, his family—whisking him away to a foreign land.
Robin was the spoil of a mad king.
Nevertheless, a treaty as wretched as this one still went both ways.
Robin now accepted his new and lowly status. He would carry out his master's commands to the 'T', but only with the assurance that the Titans would live. If Slade broke that part of the agreement, Robin would not hesitate to slit his throat in his sleep.
All glory is fleeting.
Robin's eerie grin grew wider.
If it was a monster Slade wanted, then it was a monster he was going to get.
The cold, dry winds bit at Raven's cheeks as the Titans raced toward Area 59. Invisible dust attacked her. She blinked furiously and tugged her hood further over her face as she flew against the desolate gales.
Even with limited, assaulted sight, she could still perceive a light gray trail of smoke on the approaching horizon.
Something was on fire.
The closer she got to it, the louder the alarms became.
The triple-lidded lizards of the desert scrambled out of sight, burrowing beneath the tides of sand. Angry, glinting scorpions raised their black stingers, needlessly puffed. Smirking coyotes skulked back to their dens, watching curiously from the brush. The faraway cries of a disgruntled hawk were drowned out by the sirens shrieking from Area 59.
Rotating red beacons blossomed from the sandstone rooftop like low-hanging stars. Lookout tower searchlights pierced the dark, swiveling chaotically left and right. As they illuminated the ground, black-clothed men scurried in a chaotic swarm like exposed cockroaches.
Crackles of gunfire sounded in between the wails of the alarms.
Dread came on swift paws.
Cyborg—who was clinging onto the scaly back of a massive, green pterodactyl—peered worriedly over at Raven. His dark eyes sparkled. Had they come too late?
On ebony, midnight wings, she surged ahead of the others, unable to wait. She hurdled toward the ground and landed gracelessly just outside the barb-wired walls, falling immediately into a sprint.
Area 59's impressive gate had a hole blown right through it. The metal was still hot from the explosion. A searchlight passed over, blinding her. Her magical wings instantly provided a canopy, blocking out the oppressive spotlight.
The lasting kiss of fire—cruel and acrid—saturated the atmosphere. It stung the back of her throat and made breathing difficult as it stained her lungs.
Within seconds of her intrusion, several intimidating grunts emerged silently from the dark and marched over to her. A cornucopia of weapons swung from their dark leather belts. Their combat boots glittered in the unobstructed moonlight. Not an inch of skin showed; they were covered head-to-toe in sturdy, black body armor—blending seamlessly into the night.
"Teen Titan?" one of them asked gruffly, his voice muffled by a helmet.
"Yeah," she said with a sharp nod.
The facemask shielded him from view, but Raven hardly needed his expression to guess his sentiments. He was frustrated, yet fearful. There was also a faint hint of distrust coloring his attitude—a distrust of her.
She should have been more surprised. They were supposed to be on the same side, after all. Nevertheless, it only confirmed what she was already suspicious of. Collaboration between superheroes and other types of law-enforcement was never easy.
Their reputation proceeded them; the Teen Titans didn't work well with others.
Behind, Raven heard the soft rustle of a now-human Beast Boy landing with faint, sandy shuffles. Instantaneously, a boom rattled the ground, sending dirt flying, as Cyborg pounded impressively into the earth. Starfire gently descended and levitated beside the boys, her determined gaze focused on the blown-apart gate.
Beneath the helmets, the men's mistrust grew stronger. They twitched uncomfortably in the full presence of the Titans.
Raven narrowed her eyes.
"Follow me," the man from before ordered, gesturing with his bulky arm.
He and the two others who flanked him charged off without waiting for a reply. The Titans kept pace easily.
Area 59 was a large operation.
In the center of the compound was the main storage building. It was the size of a shopping mall and was equipped with a crown of security cameras. Snipers patrolled the roof, always on duty. Watchtowers were positioned in the four corners of Area 59. Soldiers accompanied by wild-eyed dogs ran routes around and around in an eternal circle. A half a dozen bunkers and barracks were evenly spaced from one another as they ringed the area.
Beast Boy frowned when he saw his animal kin. Thick, steel choke-collars were coiled tightly around their broad, furry necks.
"I thought slavery was illegal..." the changeling muttered under his breath.
Regardless, Raven couldn't help but notice the smoking debris that cropped up alongside her as the group traveled down the makeshift path toward the gargantuan storage facility. Bits and pieces of jagged stone and metal were scattered all around, sparkling dimly in the dark.
More men joined the Titans and their escorts from out of nowhere. Guns and knives jangled loudly; heavy thumps of combat boots stomped into the fallow ground. It felt like war.
"We've got 'im cornered," a GI informed them, out of breath. "But we're havin' trouble finishin' the job. No one's been able to get within ten feet!"
Frustrated, bravado grumbles accompanied this information.
"Waste of bullets if ya ask me…little punk…"
"He can't hold out forever! We'll have him before the hour's up, sir!"
"Jesus, who is this kid?"
Starfire, who floated side-by-side with Raven, clenched her soft chin in disapproval. Her long, elegant fingers jerked. She very much wanted to give these rude warriors a stern talking to. The kid they spoke of with such contempt was far beyond their meager skill level.
If they had any inclination of who Robin was, they would have known that the boy wonder would always be the last man standing.
It was a lesson learned only with much pain and many broken bones.
Indeed, as the team entered through the building's massive entryway, Raven could already smell the blood.