A/N: I love hearing your thoughts and they are ALWAYS appreciated. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!~ :)

Warning: Language.

"It's no big surprise you turned out this way, when they closed their eyes and prayed you'd change. They cut your hair and sent you away..."

"This way!"

Squatting on the ground, Robin hastily yanked his dirk out of the downed soldier's shoulder.

His prey screamed and writhed as the blade ripped through mangled tissue and bone, and the frenzied movement caused the tip of the dagger to break apart. A bloody, steel shard remained stubbornly nestled in the upper torso. Dark crimson gurgled through the hole in the body armor and dripped serenely onto the industrial floor, a violent river.

With a grunt of frustration, Robin discarded the rest of the broken weapon and ducked behind a ten-foot high storage container. Frantic footsteps approached.

The wounded soldier rolled onto his side groaning and moaning for help, pathetically clutching his leaking chest. His exposed, scrunched-up face was a portrait of bruises. His nose was grotesquely twisted.

An empty helmet waited sadly for its owner's return.

"Over…*cough*…here!" the casualty called with a scratched voice.

A pair appeared on the scene, rushed over, and dragged their battered friend away. His heels skidded limply against the concrete as he was towed out of danger. Distressed tears ran down his swollen face.

Another streak of red was added to the already painted floor.

"Man down! MAN DOWN!" one of the rescuers screamed into a walkie-talkie. "MEDIC!"

Robin smiled savagely, baring fangs, as he peeked around the corner of the container.

"Hurry, apprentice," Slade warned him, corresponding through the usual earpiece.

As Robin's adversaries retreated, blind cover-fire zipped past and ricocheted off the metal that guarded him. He recoiled further into the shadows, dodging ping-ponging bullets.

A single explosive sat heavily in his pocket, but he was saving it as a last resort. He had a meager handful of smoke pellets left as well as a large hunting knife strapped to his leg. The thermal blaster was back at the haunt undergoing intensive tinkering.

He had no gun; Slade had not granted him permission.

He didn't mind.

Visibility was poor and guns would only be loud inconveniences. He never had been able to get the hang of them, anyway. He preferred quick, stealth strikes—up close and personal.

Two small dirks were sheathed in his silvery utility belt, the pitiful remnants of his original supply. He had to stop wasting them on peons.

After all, the real challenge had yet to come; the Teen Titans were nowhere to be seen.

Robin supposed that the Area 59 simpletons thought they could handle him alone. No need to call in the capes for just one intruder.

A ghost of smile graced his lips.

How wrong they were.

He had snuck in undetected, set explosives all over the compound, and pressed the trigger. He watched as the place became a warzone.

Completely taken off-guard, the once intimidating soldiers scattered and panicked like children, running after the red-herring fires he started. At first, all was going according to plan. No one noticed him; no one saw the thief as he skulked right past their gates.

Unfortunately, his anonymity did not last; the explosions hadn't done as much damage as Robin had hoped. Just as he was hacking into the compound's mainframe, searching for the nuclear codes, a dutiful sentry poked his head in where it didn't belong. He raised the alarm before Robin could crush his windpipe.

A swarm of soldiers fell upon him.

They pushed him to the furthermost wing of the facility, where neat rows of massive shipping containers filled the dusty football-field-sized room.

Robin didn't have a clue what these behemoths stored, and he didn't care as long as they held out against the incessant gunfire coming his way. He killed the lights, setting the stage just the way he liked it.

After a month and a half in the dark, this gave him a strong advantage.

He hopped from aisle to aisle, from box to box, luring overconfident men away from their compatriots like a Siren. The last thing these unfortunate GIs would see was the glimmer of a bo-staff hurtling toward them; the last thing they would hear was the whoosh! of a dagger as it spiraled out of the dark and sunk its teeth into their unsuspecting limbs.

Some of Robin's victims put up more of a fight and thus required more extreme methods.

He had to hamstring a few of them, slashing into the backs of their legs with his razor-sharp hunting knife. There was a vulnerable spot between the shin-high boots and the bulky kneepads that had little protection and he sliced through the muscles there as if they were butter.

Once his opponents couldn't walk, they stopped being threats, and he proceeded to finish them off with a knockout.

Yet, he did not kill them.

It would only speed up the game, he reasoned: Wounded men required more attention than dead ones, and the time it took to rescue and transport them back to safety gave Robin a nice cushion in which to strategize his next move.

There were no windows in this concrete warehouse and the only door available was the one he had come through, which was now blocked by at least fifty, trigger-happy obstacles. He would have to make his own means of escape or weaken his adversaries enough to the point where he could fight his way out.

He decided on the latter. This mission had to be a success.

There was no other choice.

He could not—would not—return to his master empty-handed. He'd rather face a thousand tanks point-blank than disappoint Slade, whose wrath would be hideously unbearable.

So, one by one, Robin picked off Area 59's defenses and, with each successful attack, he grew more and more aggressive.

Despite the circumstances, he was beginning to lose himself to the thrill of it all. Slade had been right: Robin liked this part of the job.

The sharp intake of breath just before a soldier crumpled before him was music to his ears. The crunch of plastic shattering as his staff crashed into a faceguard was akin to the sweetest birdsong.

He wanted these brawny men to whimper like teary-eyed school boys.

He wanted to humiliate them.

He wanted to hear their heartbeats thundering beneath their camouflaged vests.

He wanted them to be in awe of his merciless rage.

Above all, Robin wanted catharsis—needed it—and this golden opportunity was impossible to resist. He had a tank full of anger, an endless supply of punching bags, and two hungry fists.

There was also the matter of fairness to consider.

Why should he be the only one made to suffer? Why couldn't he inflict a little woe? A little chaos? A little cruelty?

Do unto others what has been done to you, he thought with a poignant grimace as he crept in the shadows and stalked his next target.

He trailed one group comprised of three beleaguered soldiers who jogged blindly in the gloom, running in circles, as they searched for him. Easy prey, Robin waited for them to stray.

He could hear them struggling to breathe, could see their pace slowing as they buckled under the burden of their heavy armor.

They were tired, but Robin was wired.

Pure adrenaline thumped through his veins, sharpening his every sense. His mind was pleasantly blank as he followed his predetermined course of action. He felt lethal, invincible. His footsteps were whispers unheard. He became one with the darkness, a shadow amongst shadows. His uniform glittered imperceptibly—a ghost in the night.

He never blinked.

The soldiers took a wrong turn and ended up at a makeshift dead-end, sandwiched between two containers.

With bo-staff in hand, Robin scuttled up behind them, noiseless. They spoke in rushed growls and were completely oblivious until he hissed:

"Looking for me?"

"WHAT THE FU—?!"

Gunfire and hoarse yelling ensued but were quickly cut off within seconds as the men were taken down.

Their helmets were then stripped and their guns were broken and thrown to the side, useless.

One of the soldiers ended up with two severed hamstrings and was now unconscious. Surrounded by a growing pool of red, he was slumped against the wall and his face was hidden in obscurity.

His brother in arms had collapsed after a few kicks to the chest and one swing of the staff—his dark brown eyes were dazed and unfocused as he stared dumbly at the ceiling. He wouldn't be cognizant for much longer.

The last casualty had several cuts littering his covered arms and legs and had suffered stunning blows to the throat and ribs; however, he struggled to remain upright, leaning heavily on his elbows as blood wept out of him. He was older, grayer. His hair was peppered and his stubble was silver.

Robin searched them for anything useful and came up empty-handed. Their communicators were too badly damaged to be of any help. They sparked and died with warbling murmurs.

Annoyingly, these grunts were also devoid of switchblades.

"Dangerous behavior, Robin," Slade hissed in the earpiece.

Murmuring obscenities under his breath, Robin stood and began to leave.

"Give…it up…kid…" a gruff voice suddenly panted. "…you…can't…win."

He stopped mid-step and peered over his shoulder with a hidden, raised brow.

The older man was struggling to sit back up, but he slipped on his own blood. He cradled his side, nursing his broken rib.

"He's not worth your time," Slade informed. "Leave before the others arrive."

Robin turned back around.

"You…fuckin'…coward!" the man yelled bravely at the boy wonder's disappearing back. "C-can't…fight us…*cough* *cough*…face to…face…like a real…man?!"

Robin halted again.

His nostrils flared as his anger licked its chops, feeding off the high of adrenaline and endorphins.

"Apprentice..." Slade warned perceptively.

"That's...right! Run away...*cough*...little bitch!"

Unable to refuse the bait, Robin pivoted and strode coolly back over.

He expertly twirled a bloodstained blade in his hand.

As he approached, the man's resolute expression began to crack. His eyes were glued to the knife's movements. His lip trembled despite his hostile front.

Robin crouched to the ground and cocked his head disturbingly.

The mess of hair atop his scalp swayed to the right. A few greasy tendrils sprung out like tree branches. The sides of his shaved head were spattered with dirt, blood, and burn-marks.

If the copper-trimmed half-mask hadn't covered his face, the soldier might have been appalled by the obvious deadness in those powder blue irises.

Even still, the fallen Titan had the face of Death itself: skin as white as bleached bone, cheeks as gaunt as a starved dog's ribs, and a jaw as sharp as the blade in his hand. He seemed beyond time, beyond reality.

He may have had the appearance of a sixteen-year-old boy, but that was only a veneer. A grim reaper lurked beneath.

"What's the matter?" Robin whispered when the veteran went still and silent. "Scared?"

"Come now," Slade chided calmly. "Stop playing with your food."

Robin grunted in affirmation. He leaned forward.

The man trembled in earnest.

"Who's the coward now?"

The dirk was a blur of silver as it lashed out and sliced deep into the man's forehead—into the trigeminal nerve.

The GI immediately wailed, flailed, recoiled. He clutched his face. Blood seeped from between his gloved fingers.

"Shut him up! Now!" Slade ordered.

Robin stood, sheathed the dagger, and swung his leg back.

"Nighty night," he remarked without emotion.

He was just about to kick the man's brains in when he heard it.

Or, more specifically, heard her.

"Don't do it, Robin."

Her familiar monotone burned him, reopened scars. He ground his teeth against the memories of their friendship, of her unfulfilled promise. Her voice was like a branding iron. He clenched his fists and sealed off his mind. His foot was frozen mid-air.

"What are you waiting for? Do it!" Slade barked at him.

"I'll be with you in a second," Robin snarled at Raven as his leg propelled forward.

His boot smashed into the whimpering man's jaw.

The GI's neck whiplashed. His limp body flopped backward with a sickening thud. He joined his friends in unconsciousness.

Simultaneously, Robin was yanked backward by an invisible hand.

Toes screeching and sparking against the floor, he struggled uselessly in Raven's magical grasp, which wound around his torso like headless vipers. She brought him face-to-face with her and scowled at him in clear disappointment beneath her characteristic hood.

The sight of her so close sent a trill of something unwanted up his spine. He couldn't stand her presence. She was like a hot water poured on frostbite; like high noon to a vampire. She was splitting his heart and he sneered cruelly at her, incensed.

They glared at one another in an awkward standoff.

"Why so quiet, Rae?" Robin suddenly snapped, unable to control his tempestuous tongue. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Careful, apprentice."

She shook her head. Chin-length strands of violet hair tickled her dainty chin. She seemed so normal, so unaffected by their separation.

It fueled his fury.

"Not like this, Robin," she responded honestly. "We're taking you in."

"Enlighten her," Slade commanded.

The corners of Robin's mouth shot upward, revealing his tainted canines as he grinned horribly. Raven kept her eyes on him even though her stomach curdled. He was more than a stranger now. He was a demon.

"Hm…" he hummed cockily as he pretended to mull her threat over. "I don't think so."

As he spoke, a burst of eye-watering smoke exploded from the floor. She lost concentration and her hold on Robin evaporated. His fist came crashing through the fog. With a cry, she dodged his shot, leapt backward, and ran.

"Don't let her get away!"

Grin intact, Robin obeyed with a low yap of laughter.

Raven, meanwhile, was intently focused on her feet. She weaved through the narrow aisles of the warehouse, dashing hectically around the obscured corners of the storage containers that formed defacto walls of the maze-like room.

Robin was faster than her, but she only needed to keep his attention for a few seconds…

...but a few seconds came faster than she anticipated.

Something hard knocked into her from behind. Leathered hands wrapped around her waist as they tackled her. Her body bruised and teared as it smacked against the ground and slid.

Immediately, Robin had her pinned, dead to rights. His hands pressed mercilessly into her shoulders and his knees dug painfully into her lower back.

"You can't leave without saying goodbye," he growled in a rasp. "Not this time."

Raven's eyes went black.

Robin felt her skin sizzle.

He swore.

She smirked.

"Bye."

A torrent of sparkling, mystic magic threw him back like a ragdoll.

In mid-flight, he acrobatically whisked out and tossed both of his remaining dirks at her downed form.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos!"

Raven's mystic incantation rippled through the air, echoing profoundly. She spun around on the ground and made a slashing motion with her arm.

Two feet from her, the daggers were snapped in half by an unseen force and clattered to the floor, ineffective.

Thwarted, Robin's momentum carried him until he slammed into a nearby container. The unyielding metal pounded his body and knocked him down to all fours. His skeleton screamed with hurt, rattling and ringing alarmingly.

Yet, through the pain, he heard Slade's cruel, callous voice say:

"Get up."

Groaning, Robin shook his throbbing head, reorienting it, and swayed to a standing position.

Raven was also back on her feet, facing him from ten yards away.

They squared off.

Her arms were laced with occult black. Her hood was splayed around her slight shoulders, revealing her tangled, lilac hair. Her heart-shaped, pale face glowed in the dark. Her countenance was stubborn and her large blue-purple eyes were in sparkling slits as she regarded him with upmost loathing.

He knew that expression well.

"Finish her," Slade decreed, unimpressed.

Robin leaned down and extracted the hunting knife from the holster strapped to his lower calf. He raised it to the level of his eyes and returned her glare with one of his own.

"Where's the rest of the team?" he wondered, taking a deliberate step.

"You'll see."

He crept closer and cocked his head.

"Let me guess," he mocked, swerving to the right. "Ambush?"

She mimicked him.

"Something like that."

He tossed the dagger back and forth between his hands.

Raven didn't flinch. Her stare was steady and fixed.

"You can't save me, Rae," Robin stated with a bragging attitude. "It's over."

She kept her voice composed.

"Maybe, maybe not," she conceded vaguely.

"Stop chatting and end her already."

He took three more slow strides.

She didn't react to his taunt.

The ropes of magic swathed around her arms undulated like iridescent steam. The scent of witchcraft tickled his nose.

"You're too late," he snapped, disregarding Slade's order. "You had your chance."

"If you say so."

It was irritating him, how passive she was.

"How long has it been?" he wondered scathingly, trying to throw her off-guard. "A month? Two months?"

"We couldn't find you, Robin."

He barked out a hollow laugh.

"You gave up."

"No," Raven retorted confidently, going on the offensive. "You did."

"Robin. You're trying my patience."

He jerked his head. His upper lip twitched, spasmed. He dropped to the ground in a hostile crouch.

Raven subtly widened her stance.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said in a deadened tone.

Despite his attempt at nonchalance, his budding fury gonged across the mind-link, clear and strong.

"We both know that's a lie," Raven retorted with a victorious smirk.

He growled lowly in response.

"Wow. I'm so scared."

Robin's unnerving expression disappeared and flattened. He frowned and leaned forward. Raven stiffened.

"You should be."

"I'm only going to say this one last time..."

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to be intimidated?"

"...attack!"

Without another word, Robin pounced.

She was ready for him.

"TITANS, GO!"

Hiding in the dark above their heads, Starfire dropped Cyborg from twenty feet up just as Robin went airborne.

Cyborg's full weight smashed into the boy wonder's flying back and he crashed. Snarling, he scrambled away before Cyborg could finish pulverizing him.

Robin reached for a smoke pellet in his pocket, but a large, green bear rammed into his side and knocked him, headfirst, against one of the surrounding containers.

By some miracle, he held onto the hunting knife, but the earpiece was not so lucky.

On impact, it tumbled out and shattered.

"ROBI—!" Slade's voice cut off and disappeared.

"Master?" Robin murmured, stupefied, clutching his pounding skull.

Yet, he had no time to process this monkey wrench as a threatening presence suddenly loomed behind him.

Acting on pure instinct, he pirouetted and ducked just as another one of Beast Boy's swipes came for him.

As he dodged the attack, Robin slashed into the changeling's extended forearm, cutting it twice with precise strikes.

The blade went deep. Dark, jade blood leaked out. The bear roared in pain. His cries reverberated like cathedral bells in the warehouse. His other paw struck out blindly as he retreated, batting Robin away.

Backpedaling, Robin stumbled into something hard.

"OH, YOU DID NOT JUST DO THAT!"

He spun around, knife raised, but Cyborg caught his wrist and twisted it. The blade fell to the floor, spraying a mixture of Christmas-colored blood.

"Let...GO!"

The boy wonder struggled with all of his vicious strength. He plowed a brutal fist into Cyborg's organic cheek.

The Titan spat blood and dropped to a knee, but he did not release Robin's arm.

Savage and desperate, the apprentice fell upon him. He was rewarded for his frenzy. With each furious kick and hit, the human fetter on his wrist loosened.

Just when he was about to regain his freedom, something stopped him mid-punch:

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos!"

Robin snapped his head up just in time to hear Raven's chant.

"NO!"

Whisking back around, Robin pressed a boot into Cyborg's face, gripped the robot's arm, and heaved.

"LET. GO. LET. GO. LET. GO!" he roared, all to no avail.

His heart began to deafen him. The walls were closing in.

Too late, black, sparkly tendrils snaked around his neck and legs. They pulled him off Cyborg, who still had him in a vice.

Robin's arms were then spread as if he were being crucified; Raven and Cyborg pulled him in opposite directions.

He was forced to his knees as more glittering magic enveloped him and spread.

He couldn't move.

The sorcerous shadows were creeping up his shoulders and down into his legs, rooting and pressing him down. His neck shook under the weight. Only his torso remained untouched. The steel 'S' on his chest winked.

"LET ME GO!" he howled.

"NOW, STAR!"

A spark of emerald flame shot out of the dark.

As it hurtled toward him, bright green overpowered the darkness and painted everything in its iridescent glow.

His eyes widened and he cried:

"SLADE! HELP ME!"

But his plea fell on deaf ears.

The starbolt hit Robin square in the chest.

Pain overwhelmed him. His vision blackened.

He went slack in the Titans' clutches with a final, strangled gasp.