RR76: This chapter may come late. I've been having writers block, and thus dis here chapter may suck. That rhymes... kinda. On the plus side, you find out Carson's last name, if that's at all interesting...

Review Responses:

Queen-Of-Azerath: I think that tems copyrighted... but who cares. Screwed up. No prob. And stuff... Thanks. Need the kind words to keep me going on this. No flames yet, always a plus. TROQ wasn't on, was it? They always stop it midway through the season for no reason (also rhymes) whatsoever. Something must be done about this... wow. Long response.

Poopy Penguin: Don't mind lateness. I just HATE farmers markets. Where I used to live, I was dragged off to one every saturday, and half the plants there were pot... I think. I'm starting to be suspicious about the smells there...

Wild Ambition: Pssh... sure they are. Only flare guns are meant to signal for help. Plus, they can do that immolation thing. YAY IMMOLATION.

Don't own, don't sue. Do own Carson. He is MINE! MINE I TELLS YAS! MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE!

R/R

"Anyone needs me, I'll be in my room," Carson said the second they walked into the living room. Not that anyone was eager to bother him. The image of the dead street thug was still fresh in their minds.

As soon as he was gone Robin turned to the others. "Anyone else not trust him anymore?"

"Didn't trust him to begin with," Raven said darkly. "As if I needed more convincing".

"The dude killed someone. He SHOT someone. I don't know 'bout you guys, but I'm not comfortable with him sleeping right down the hall from me," Cyborg said, folding his arms.

"What he said," Beast Boy added.

"I believe the term is 'ditto'?" Starfire finished.

Robin shook his head. "Didn't think so-" A thought struck him. "Carson- he said he worked in Gotham City, right?" Murmurs of agreement arose from his friends. "Wouldn't that mean I would have heard of him? I lived there for years, and I'd never heard of an underage vigilante... other than myself," he added.

"Robin's right," Raven said. "Has anyone even heard of Carson?" The Titans looked at each other.

Robin began giving out assignments. "Cyborg, Raven, Beast Boy, I want you guys to get on the Internet and try to find any mentions of Carson. I want something by the end of the day. Starfire, you're with me. Get moving people."

"Man, this is boring," Beast Boy complained. "The first non-cloudy day in weeks, and I'm stuck in here doing research on some hell-seeing murderer.

"Beast Boy, shut up and do something," Raven snapped. Beast Boy slumped back in his chair.

"Where're we supposed to check anyway? The F.B.I.'s most wanted?" Beast Boy said sarcastically.

"Not a bad idea," said Cyborg. He typed in the adress to the F.B.I. homepage and scanned down the Most Wanted list for Carson's name. (I don't know anything about the FBI homepage, but I bet it's nothing like this)

"Any luck?" Raven asked. Cyborg shook his head. "Try and narrow the search," she suggested. Cyborg typed 'carson' in the search box.

Results 1-10 of 112,000 listed the screen said. Cyborg sighed. "Better get to work," he grumbled. He started clicking the names down the list, each one showing a picture of someone who looked nothing like Carson. After an hour of scanning down the names, however...

"Robin, think we got something," Cyborg called. Robin and Starfire put down the newspapers and rushed to the computor.

"There's no photo, but it's our best find all day," Cyborg explained. "And as far as we can tell, he's not another used car salesman, quarterback, or porn site."

"Hmm..." Robin read the information on the screen. "Carson Elam, age... classified? Huh?"

"The good kind, right? The one that means he's got class?" Beast Boy asked hopefully.

"A guy who uses a flare gun to kill his victoms doesn't tend to have much class, Beast Boy," Raven said, rolling her eyes.

"Height, classified, weight classified... doesn't he have ANY info that isn't classified!" Robin fumed.

"Hey, check this out," Beast Boy said. "'Wanted for questioning... by the United States Armed Forces? What's the Army got to do with this guy?"

"Wow... you finally did something," Raven said, a small smile on her face. Beast Boy glared at her.

"Guys, not now!" Robin snapped. "Last seen in the Mojave Desert?"

"How d'you figure he got all the way out there without dying?" Cyborg asked, a confused expression on his human features. Robin ignored the question and scrolled down to the bottom. "3 known contacts... Jessica and Warren Sabel, and... Colonol Richard Fargas, United States Air Force..."

"There's the Army again... think there's a connection?" Raven asked.

Robin's eyes were still glued to the screen. He paled suddenly, and his voice was low and shaky as he read the last line. "350,000,000 reward for the capture of Carson Elam... dead or alive." The room fell silent.

"Chilling..." Starfire said quietly.

Slade's face appeared on the screen. "Can I help you?" he asked in a bored tone.

"I can't do it," Slade's contact said in a low voice. Slade cocked his head to one side. "Whatever do you mean?" he said condescendingly.

The agent rolled his eyes. "You know damn well what I'm talking about," he snapped. "No way in hell I could assassinate them. They're too..." he searched for the right word.

"I hope you're not trying to get out of your contract?" Slade asked. The agent shook his head. "I simply mean I can't assassinate them. They don't deserve that kind of death."

"Who said anything about assassination? Just take a gun, find them, mock them, shoot them. It's that easy." Slade said, irritated. The agent shook his head again. "They'd kill me before I could take two steps."

"I see..." Slade murmered. "Then perhaps now you see why I wanted the information?"

The agent snapped his fingers. "The security codes to the tower..."

"He finally gets it," Slade said offscreen to Terra. He looked the agent straight in the eye. "Send them to me immediately." The link terminated itself abruptly, an orange and silver "S" replacing it.

The agent turned off the communicator. "Understood..." he said quietly to no one but the darkness.

Bad chapter. Sorry. I tend to criticize myself for mistakes. All mistakes, no matter how tiny, Just... review please. Thanks.