A Cat's Tale

By: Catty Engles Reporter for the Daily Gazette

Edition Seventh: Spin-kick

Whoosh. Bang. And I'm surrounded by the metal bars of a cage.

Slade seems to forget me for a moment as he bends over the control panel, obviously engrossed in his work. That's fine with me if I what is biting into my ankle is what I think it is. I angle my body so that my searching hand is not obvious to Slade or any hidden cameras that might be above me. I'm helpless to those at a certain angle or range, but what's life without the life-threatening, utterly stupid risks we take, eh?

I dig into my sock and a quick glance into my palm confirms that Robin was able to plant a tracker on my ankle when he tried to save me from the flying robot. This is good, it ensures the intent of rescue.

Now to sit back and wait ... and think.

My thoughts first turn to the weasely Slick Boulderdash who probably sold me and the mini-recorder out for a couple grand, no, I shouldn't flatter myself- but knowing Slick ... I'd say Slade had to pay a pretty price for the perverted penny-pincher. The heavy weight of guilt takes up a permanent residence in motel Catty.

Then they drift to Slade's scheme and my unwilling but still completely helpful part in all this. How do I know the Titans won't think that I was working for Slade? I reach behind my head and wince accordingly. Oh yeah.

But will I be able to do anything to prove myself worthy of rescue? All noble thoughts aside, I would like to get out of here alive. My wandering eyes fix on something and I smile grimly to myself, a plan already formulating in my mind. Hmm, there is one thing.

I contemplate for a quarter of an hour, working out the glitches and praying. You could say I'm a fair-weather- er, bad-weather Christian, but I wouldn't scorn some divine intervention at this point.

Time drags on for me and my tension mounts inside.

Combat noise is heard in the hallway. Slade looks up from his task at the computer and gives me a venomous glare. Seems he just realized his big mistake of not searching me and against my better senses I grin my big reporter grin, showing lots of teeth and defiance. His hand goes to his side for his com like a knight would for a sword. A few quick words into it and suddenly the room is swarming with robots.

And with one last prayer sent up to the heavens, I adjust my skirt and hair and wait for the impending chaos.

The door flies a full twenty feet away from its hinges revealing the Teen Titans in all their battle splendor. Robin goes directly for Slade and the others begin the messy work of kicking serious robot butt. I wave my arms, desperately trying to call attention to myself, "Starfire!"

The alien girl, hovering high above the teeming ranks of robots looks up, her eyes burning. A short moment of indecision passes over her and then she nods as if assuring herself. Green light spurts from her fingertips, adequately slicing through the metal cage's top, just high enough so it doesn't endanger my head. Thumbs up for thanks and I catapult over the top, reaching for my weapon.

I draw with all the relish of a warrior ready to do battle. To my utmost, and I can stress how utmost, relief pepper spray works just as well on robots as it does to their human counterparts. I'm not exactly sure why, but philosophy wasn't high on my priority list at the moment. I spray my way over to the computer screen, catching a fleeting glimpse of the Slade/Robin battle going on to my left. This'll have to be quick.

I duck to a small segment that I noticed earlier on the belly of the huge control panel. With slight pressure of my palm it opens to a tangle of wires. I smile to myself and begin my work.

Yes, as Hercules is of the same genetic make-up as Hitler, so it the average copy machine similar to this monstrosity of master-computer. And as all of the careful readers know, I can make my way around the copy machine several times over with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back, and I'm just good with technology. I search the bundles of cords, finally coming up with the red wire and blue wire.

Ah yes, the eternal question, which to cut? The red, if any of you action freaks have guessed. The memory of the master computer is now wiped dryer than the Sahara and my secret mission is accomplished. Now to destroy the original copy.

I wipe myself down, trying to look inconspicuous as I plot my next move- hard to do with all the battle noise.

Cyborg and Starfire are working as a team. Back to back, they rocket off energy blasts, clearing a wide radius of destruction. Raven and Beastboy are backed into a corner, Raven keeping her shield up while Beastboy lashes out from behind it. Raven's weakening and I can tell that Starfire and Cyborg are trying to blast their way over to their friends' aide.

The henchman robots are busy enough, but- oh no, where's Robin? Slade and Boy Wonder have made an exit as I quickly figure out from the back door swinging on its hinges.

I make a bee-line for it, brandishing my pepper spray at any errant robot. I push aside the door and find myself in a stairwell that seems not to have had the convenience of a temperature over 50 degrees in the last millennia. My teeth start chattering as I make my way up the metal staircase, noting the faint depressions in the thick swathe of dust that covers each step. They've been here.

As I push myself up two stories straight, I also wonder if this truly is Slade's secret lair/lab/hide-out- thing. I mean this dust is not new, and even slight activity would keep off a layer this thick.

My breath forms ice-crystals in front of my face and I crouch behind another ajar door leading to the roof. My brain seems to be running remarkably slow and I fight for control. Clearing a little bit of the fog out of my mind, I focus on the grunts of battle and skidding feet I hear outside.

Reminding myself of my goal, I slink around the door, thankful that Slade has his back to me, but not for long. The roof is whipped by a frigid wind that swirls a dusting of snow into eerie shapes. Crates line one side of the wall and a generator fan dominates the other. Robin and Slade are at the base of the fan creatively utilizing some of the scaffolding.

Gritting my teeth, I run in a crouched position over to a pile of crates and watch the fight, biting my lip and biding my time.

Robin lashes out ferociously but his hits are lightning quick and come in quick succession. Slade fights more along the haymaker approach sending devastating punches at Robin when he darts too close. Robin rolls away and comes up behind Slade, but the man is too quick for the boy and lands a punishing blow to his chest. Robin spirals away with a heart-wrenching groan. I throw all caution to the winds and against all my better senses, learning, and instincts begin to sprint towards the man.

Slade saunters over to Robin and stands above him as he lies winded on the ground. My speed increases as Slade raises a foot to deal the final punishing blow. The next few seconds seem to fast-forward themselves each time I try to remember them. I wind my hand around Slade's belt-pouch, not really thinking how I will get it off or get the mini-recorder out of it when Robin catapults backwards and Slade's foot connects squarely with my chest instead of his, tearing his belt off in my hand. This solves one problem but creates another far more dire.

Then everything slows down as I hear an internal crack. I skid a few feet, gradually coming to a stop as Robin's cry of outrage echoes gruesomely and he redoubles his efforts, "Catty!"

My breath is beyond labored. Each intake plunges knives into my breast and every exhale twists them in the wound. My eyes widen as shapes and colors blur into themselves then begin to darken. "I must be dying" reverberates through my head. For a moment I want to welcome the merciful darkness, but then I remember my goal.

I open the belt-pouch, my breath like a maelstrom in my own ears, and remove the tiny device that has caused so much grief and with a final effort separate the actual recorder to what I now know is a supersonic sound wave generator and digital fingerprint documenter. With my last reserves of strength, I crush it in my hand. With Slade's satisfying howl of rage still ringing in my ears, I surrender myself to unconsciousness.

So yes, this chapter is a bit longer than the others but I couldn't find a good place to cut it off and I just love my reviewers so MUCH! Mwuah! It's obvious I've hooked the intelligent lot and/or the people who enjoy a story and not some romantic mush. So yes, thank you to all that have reviewed, and now I'll put the question to you. There's about enough information for one more chapter and then ... I've been throwing around the idea of continuing the story. But if I do I must sate the appetite of the helpless romantic within. So I really don't care but- who is paired with who? Personally I don't mind RobStar BBRae RaeRob or BBStar I will NOT write slash, I don't think anyone is made for Cyborg on the team- but YOU tell ME what YOU think then my people can get with your people and, lo, a story is to behold!