Warning: very, VERY suggestive languages!
Again special thanks to Fire Tears for the betaing. ^__^
Italic = Slade's thoughts
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Sometimes Slade sees himself in Robin so clearly, that it's almost like looking into a mirror. He sees another path, another possibility, and perhaps even another chance. They truly are so very, very similar on so many levels. But unlike Slade, Robin's path is still undecided, the road before him free and its destination unnamed.
Slade wants to be that destination.
And right now, he is somewhat... impatient.
Robin is beautiful, simply vibrant and glowing from that fiery spirit. Slade wants a taste, just the smallest sip to sustain himself till their actual meeting.
So he has cooked up this little plan.
Trap the boy in an abandoned warehouse, with him. Not in physical form, in presence only.
Because the time, regrettably, is not yet ripe for the picking.
He stands before the screen. The room is cold and the giant gears rotate and click around him quietly. He takes a step forward; the boy's pain-filled face shifts closer. The smirk behind his mask is mirthless and cruel.
Lights flash on the controller attached to his arm guard. Red lights, pulsing placidly, indicating the boy's heart rate. A gloved finger caresses the flat, metallic surface gently. Carefully, he presses down and guides the small, black arrow higher up on the scale.
The android's grip tightens.
Robin chokes, clawing fruitlessly at the unyielding steel. The lights brighten and the numerical digits on the indicator start to rise rapidly, warning with each flash. Slade sighs, then bites his bottom lip in a haste to stop the satisfied moan from escaping.
The warehouse is empty and ghostly quiet. Robin is the only one there; his pestering friends are all otherwise engaged... elsewhere. The leader of the Teen Titans is strangely unbalanced tonight, almost absent-minded, and thus provides no great challenge for his minors. The boy is easily overtaken and restrained. Slade jammed the Titans' communication frequencies beforehand, and then sent Cinderblock as further distraction.
Robin is staying, and they are not going to be done until he says so.
Moonlight pours through the open windows, projecting a false image of sincerity and tranquillity. Almost peaceful, if not for the pained moan from Robin and the soft static noises from the transmitter of the android.
He moves the arrow up a little more, and the mechanical hand jerks sharply. Robin's struggling almost ceases, and his mouth hangs open, gulping down air desperately.
I can kill you... right now.
Slade chuckles, the sound crystal clear despite the miles separating them.
Robin stiffens before resuming his struggling, head swinging from side to side. He can almost picture the boy's eyes, darting around the room frantically, alerted and searching.
"Robin, Robin." He starts by admonishing in an almost parental tone, "Rushing into a situation unplanned and unprepared. This isn't like you at all."
Robin's head cranes around and pinpoints the hidden camera in a heartbeat. He can see the tightly clenched jaws, lips pulling back in the motion of a snarl, revealing the whitened gums and both columns of pearly teeth, teeth that are gritting almost forcefully. The boy would have hissed out strings of threats by now if his windpipe wasn't cut off.
Slade wants to laugh out loud.
In the next instant, Robin's body has sprung up in an arc, aiming a vicious upward kick at the android's elbow. The joint breaks with a sickening snap. Sparks of electricity course through the exposed wires, and dance around the jagged edges of the fractured exterior cover.
Ahhh... I knew it. There is still some fight left in you, given the right incentive.
The android's grip stays secured. In response, both of Robin's hands grasp the wrist of the mechanical arm, hitching it outward while pushing against the android's chest with both feet as means of leverage. The steel rod, serving as the central bone for the arm, croaks under the strain, then comes apart with a dull crunch.
Robin falls backward, but pushes with one hand before his body can hit the floor. With a perfect back flip, the boy lands a few feet away and immediately crouches into a defensive position. The remaining hand around that slender neck is pried off and thrown away as if it's some sort of contagious disease. Robin coughs a few times before his breathing can calm down to a soft panting.
There is a thick line of bruising, already forming and visible just above the neckline of the black cape.
So fragile.
Slade licks his lips, suddenly wishing there is something other than the inside of his own mouth to chew on.
"SLADE!" Robin shouts, one hand going toward his utility belt, "SHOW YOURSELF!"
"Now, now, Robin, that would take the fun out of the game."
Robin glares at his patronizing tone, then spits out hatefully, "This isn't a game! Come out, you coward!"
His eyes roam over that lean form, which is trembling slightly with barely suppressed rage. Robin really needs to do something about that temper; it can get him into a world of trouble. Not to mention an early grave, which is something Slade isn't going to allow.
"Of course it's a game, Robin. It's always been a game."
Robin doesn't reply, and instead stalks towards the camera menacingly. The contractible staff extends and cuts through the air with a loud whoosh. With the staff held rigidly in one hand, Robin leans his upper body forward slightly, ready to charge.
Abruptly, Slade asks, "Did it hurt?"
"W-what?!" Robin pauses at the sudden change of topic, body tensed and staff held awkwardly in the middle of a downward strike.
"Did it hurt?" he repeats, dragging out the last 't' until it fades into an inaudible purr.
The boy lowers his weapon, and then takes an involuntary step back, shaky fingers unconsciously stroking the bruises on his neck. Slade's shoulders are heaving convulsively with repressed laughter.
The young and the innocent. Both are so predictable and so easily swayed.
"You, you..." Robin stammers out, looking adorably confused.
His headquarters have just gotten a few notches warmer. He steps closer to the gigantic screen on the wall, scratching along the line of Robin's face before the back of his nails migrates toward the base of Robin's neck. As always, he wishes that he can be in the same room with the other, just to smell the boy's scent, sweat and musk, but also mingled with the freshness of soap. And it will definitely be laced with torrents of hate and fear.
"You're looking a little pale, Robin. Not... frightened, are you? Does it hurt that much?"
"W-what the hell! I am not scared!"
Slade chuckles again, which manages to infuriate Robin further. The boy is positively fuming with indignation. But no matter how much Robin denies it, the fear is transparent, written clearly on his face. That is, if one knows where to look.
"Oh, but you are. It always hurt, doesn't it?" Slade continues as if uninterrupted, "Everything."
"What are you, my psychiatrist now?!"
Slade studiously ignores that remark, then proceeds to type in a few commands on the panel of the control table beside him. The hidden androids inside the warehouse are instantly activated. Their shadowy figures slink forward, sprouting from the lurking darkness like phantoms. Robin draws in a sharp breath and raises the staff again. The androids do not advance, and they will hold their positions until further instruction.
"Sweet, delicious pain... something to remember me by."
My mark.
"Stop talking in riddles! Make sense!"
He laughs, and the sound comes out low and somewhat raspy through the filtration of his mask. Robin takes another retreating step, looking increasingly freaked. He observes the change, pleased. The walls surrounding the boy's mind are crumbling, their foundations dissolving. Slade can almost hear the echoes of the falling stones, crying out into an endless vacuum.
Robin's beliefs are mere parodies; they're constructed from nothing but self-righteous anger and a misled sense of justice. They are made of glass and straw, weak, feeble and unworthy of mentioning. When the last wall is crushed, there will be nothing left to guard Robin. Nothing will stand in Slade's way; he will snatch away Robin's spent yesterdays and lay claim to those meaningless tomorrows. Because only from the ruins can Slade salvage the shattered pieces and create something new, something infinitely better.
"And soon it's going to hurt a lot more. There is nothing you can do to stop this."
"Wha-you... I... S-shut up!"
The mask is cracking now, infested with tiny fissures of doubt and uncertainty. They will grow and spread like cancer.
The staff is dropped from Robin's hand and rolls lifelessly onto the floor. Robin is biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, body recoiled and hands shielding out the onslaught of words.
"You are scared, helpless, defenseless. You can't save anyone, not even yourself."
Just a little more.
"Fear angers you, and in turn it fuels you. Without it, you have nothing."
"Shut up! SHUT UP!"
"Fear may pain you, but without it, you feel nothing."
"Shut up... just... s-stop..."
Does it pain you now? Does my presence pain you? Can my voice alone scorch your skin?
"Without it, you are nothing."
"N-no... it's... it's not true..."
"Admit it."
"No... NO!"
Close.
So close, yet not close enough. He reaches out and his hand encounters cold glass instead of pale cheeks. The screen is smooth and firm beneath his palm, but it lacks the inviting warmth of human flesh.
A colourful expletive is halfway to the tip of his tongue, condemning this accursed barrier of space between them.
The door explodes.
A girl with red hair bursts into the room, green energy spheres shining brightly in both hands. With a twist of wrists, she sends them flying. They soar through the air swiftly and blast into the group of androids. The rest of the Teen Titans follows closely behind her.
"Robin!"
Robin straightens upon hearing her voice, then dashes forward and picks up his staff in a blur of green and black. Vertigo and frailty temporarily forgotten and concealed with long practice. The mask slides back in place with ease, and the walls are being reconstructed with alarming speed and masterful skill.
Slade curses, out loud.
Once again, Cinderblock has proven himself to be completely useless. Good help is simply impossible to come by. If only Robin wasn't so stubborn.
Annoyed at the fact that his 'quality time' with the Boy Wonder is spoiled, Slade switches off the monitor. He has no interest in the impending fight, since the Titans will no doubt come out victorious. As a group, those children are surprisingly resilient and Slade needs an entirely different set of tactics in dealing with them.
Divide and conquer.
But not today. Today he's already had his fun. He smirks, patters down the platform and turns toward the direction of the laboratory. He still has work to do. His nanoprobes are in the final stage of development. A few more days, and they will be ready for testing.
Then the Titans will pay for their interference, tenfold.
As for Robin, this meeting is enough.
For now.
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Thanks for reading.
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