Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans. I do own a couple of the Wolfman/Perez comics from the '80's (a fine year for comics). As far as copyright goes, DC, CN, and WB own it.
Author's Note: Thanks once more to Mr. Serve and Mr. Tyriel for their reviews. I'm glad I'm pleasing you. Tyriel, as far as the three 'borgs go, I thought multi-color would be a good distinguishing feature; I'm really bad at making up names, so Red, Green, and Yellow are good shortcuts. Sorry for the long update wait!
This particular chapter is made up of mostly flashbacks, detailing my version of his origin. Some of the details aren't important, but I may want to tie it in with another planned fic. For now, enjoy!
Ch. 3: Painful MemoriesSTAR Labs, Jump City, three years ago…
Dr. Silas Stone nervously surveyed the reasonable convention, a rowdy, chattering group of mostly reporters, ready to sink their teeth into this story and dig out a Pulitzer Prize. A few colleagues of his were also blended in, a majority of them more statue than human, their supercomputer brains focused on their own projects. None of them truly mattered; they were obstacles, hurdles to jump over in order to reach the finish line. That's how his son rationalized it, anyway, and he was far wiser than the average teenaged athlete. This presentation was just a way to publicize his work, maybe get a Nobel, swell his pants pocket with STAR Labs' generous paycheck, and support what remained of his family.
He caught sight of his two remaining relatives standing at the fore of the congregation. His fair wife's lips parted, forming a glistening white smile. By his own testimony, it was her smile that made him propose to her, though she would call him a romantic dreamer for it. He didn't much mind; he took pride in being both a scientist and a romantic. There weren't enough in the world.
Next to his wife was the boy, or rather the man now, who Silas bragged was his proudest creation. Stone's only son, Victor, was a towering wall of sheer body mass, standing inches taller than even his athletic friends. The professor not only freely admitted that he had to crane his neck quite a bit to make eye contact with him, but did so with a grin. Not only was the younger Stone skilled at all forms of physical activity, he had also inherited his father's brain, earning straight A's on every report card, a feat that Silas himself couldn't say he accomplished in high school.
The broad-shouldered boy flashed his father a thumbs-up, one that Dr. Stone readily returned. Public speaking wasn't his strong point, but he could- no, he would- do it for his wife and son.
The professor called for attention, and the room fell silent. He took a small swig of water, cleared his throat, took a final glance at his notes, and began to address his crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, pausing for a hasty deep breath, "for many years we have looked to the stars to discover new worlds. Today, we look right here, within. Since the time of the great Einstein, it has been speculated that there are entire universes parallel to our own, invisible to our eyes, for we lacked the means to view them. Ancient scriptures speak of such viewings through magic and the sort. Science fiction refers to these universes as 'alternate dimensions'. For most of my life as a scientist, I have studied this phenomenon, and I can assure you, it is no fantasy!"
At this, the gathering began to burst into conversation, murmurs and cries of madness. The general agreement seemed to be that the idea was simply patent nonsense. Most of the journalists present laughed uproariously. The steel-faced scientists simply shook their heads, looking down at their watches, impatiently shuffling their feet. None of them seemed to notice the stabbing glances that young Victor was tossing their way, but Silas didn't care; their indifference only drove him on. His confidence began to climb, all uneasiness completely dissipating. So they didn't believe him? Good, it would only be more satisfying when he proved them wrong!
"Is it so incredible, my friends?" he exclaimed, not a drop of fear left in his steady voice. "It does exist; I have viewed it with my undeserving eyes, and this was the tool!"
It was now that Stone approached the center of the tiny room, where there stood a great form covered by a tarp. He tore the sheet away in a flourish, and it drifted slowly to the polished steel floor. The behemoth machine was revealed; a strange apparatus was suspended a few feet off of the ground, two thin metal "arms" bending to form a circular shape, about six feet in diameter. Below it was a host of miniature super computers and control panels, blinking on and off like turn signals. The result from the crowd was less than enthusiastic; indeed, they seemed even more skeptical than they had two seconds ago. Nonetheless, Silas Stone was beaming; they'd see soon enough.
Without further hesitation, without regret or second thought, the scientist approached his invention, his wide smile lingering. He let his hands hovered over the control board for a moment to reflect; this was it, the fruits of his efforts, his masterwork, his grand, glittering dream, and he was basking in it. Humming the tune of "Happy Days", he flipped the switches one at a time, in an overdramatic fashion, and the various pieces of machinery about him soon joined in, brought to life by his own two hands. His eyes drifted to the activation button, giving off its soft green glow, waiting.
"Ladies and gentleman," Stone called over the increasing racket, "fasten your seatbelts!" With that, he jammed the trigger down.
The two "arms" of the device began to rotate, moving like a wounded turtle at first, but steadily gaining speed, spinning faster and faster until the were nearly invisible, just a single blur. Slowly, a black energy began to form around the metallic tornado, rippling like water. The spectators' shock turned to near panic as the orb began to tear open, belching out a brilliant light, far brighter than any person in that room had ever seen. Through it all, Stone continued to grin.
That smile fled his face, however, when a deafening siren wailed out, and emergency lights bathed the area in red. Silas reacted before he thought, hand instinctively lashing out to pull back the abort lever. The device did not respond; if anything, the process intensified, the maw to the plane beyond opening wider. It was beyond his control now; the arms were spinning faster than the Flash himself, and were only building up speed. Completely helpless, Stone knew that in a matter of seconds, the emergency isolation protocol would activate, sealing the machine and any stragglers behind a solid steel blast door.
The doctor did the only thing he could think of. "Run!" he cried, his voice drowned out by the alarms.
The crowd was already rushing towards the exit, jostling and shoving to pass one another, blind and deaf to anything else. Even the inventor himself was not impervious to fear, and was among the first to rush out, momentarily forgetting his own flesh and blood inside the testing area. His wife was at the very rear of the group, standing alone in the mass hysteria. Victor was farther ahead in the group, carried forward by the waves of the fleeing crowd.
Trying to gain passage through the stalled rush, she chanced a wary glance toward the unstable device, the still open gateway. She screamed as a clawed hand breached the rip, pulling with it a hideous creature with it. She scarcely had time to look at the beast before it pounced, with a deep, resounding howl, landing roughly on top of her. She collapsed under its tremendous weight, and it hurled her aside like a broken toy, uncaring, indifferent to her fate. It took flight on bat-like wings, soaring over the heads of the frantic mob before disappearing into the twisting, tangled hallways of the research facility.
The last person burst through the doorway, panting heavily but otherwise undamaged, at least until he was shoved aside by a raging Victor Stone. The young man sprinted into the fires of Death himself, well-muscled arms already reaching out for the limp, crumpled form of his mother.
"No!" cried the elder Stone, starting after his infinitely bolder son. Alas, fate's cruel hand slammed the door shut, a mechanical click and hiss fully sealing it. There was a pounding on both sides of the barrier, each of the Stone men calling out for the door to be opened, neither one having the power to make it so. Soon, Victor's screams were silenced by an explosion.
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Residence of Dr. Silas Stone, presentThe tired old man casually wiped the tear that was snaking its way down his cheek. He straightened himself in his chair, locking eyes with his technologically improved son. His eyes continued to swell with tears too seldom cried, yet he attempted, largely unsuccessfully, to remain as emotionless as the boy.
"Son," he said, his hoarse voice quivering. "It's nice to see you again. I've been keeping up with your little escapades. It certainly has been some time since we last saw each other directly."
"Yeah," Cyborg responded, his voice cold, hollow, as unfeeling as a machine, "since the day I woke up half the man I used to be."
"So, how's life?" the older man asked awkwardly, unnerved by the situation.
"Oh, y'know, pretty good. Kickin' bad guy butt and protecting the city."
"I meant your personal life," the father growled, slightly agitated by his son's irritable attitude.
Cy's glazed organic eye narrowed, boring a hole into the soul of the man he had called "Dad". "Just awesome, Pops," he sighed. "Freakin' booyah."
"For God's sake, Vi… Cyborg," Silas burst, rising abruptly to his feet, sending the chair toppling to the carpeted floor with a soft thud, "I know that's a lie! You haven't had one good day since that accident! I remember it just as well as you. You were furious, absolutely berserk. And…" The man ceased his berating, pausing as the dam broke, allowing the tears to finally flood out. "…and, God save me, it's all my fault."
Stone collapsed at his last remaining relative's hydraulic feet, faced buried deep in his hands, hiding the shame from his cursing view.
The half-robot gave the broken man no relief, offered no sympathy, no warm smile and helping hand to pull him to his feet. Instead, said, voice deadpan, "Get up. We have to talk."
Inhaling his misery, the shattered soul arose shakily, trembling as he looked upward once more into flesh and glass eyes. "What about?"
"There was an attack on the bank today."
"Ah, yes," the doctor sighed, wiping the moisture from his bloodshot eyes, "I heard about that in the news."
"So you know about those three copycats?" Cyborg asked, his voice brightening subconsciously, though his tone and demeanor remained rough.
"Yeah, I do. And quite frankly, it ticks me off quite a bit."
"At least there's one thing we can agree on," Cy hissed spitefully, unforgiving.
His venom seeped deeply into Stone's veins, causing him to drop his head in a sharp motion, a futile attempt to shield himself from his own blood's ill will. Yet the teen hero could view his father quite clearly; perhaps, in that one instant at least, he saw the man with a cleared vision. For the first time since the accident, Cyborg saw a brokenhearted man, one with remorse deeper than the seven seas themselves. In that instant, Cyborg's artificial heart melted, and he was Victor Stone once more, looking at his dad with admiration sparkling in his dark brown eyes.
The boy exhaled. "Listen, Dad," he said softly, though his words still held a grudge, "we've had our differences in the past. What I need now isn't an apology. I need your help. Honest, professional help. Can I count on you?"
The doctor silently nodded, head still downcast, as if in a daze.
"Do you know if anyone else has seen my blueprints? Are there any copies out there, any way at all that somebody would be able to mass produce me?"
Still unspeaking, the doctor shook his head negatively. He appeared tense, yet he seemed as though he was in a trance.
"Silas, talk to me. I need your help."
Silas slowly reestablished eye contact, allowing his son to look deeply into him, into his mind, into his heart, into his very soul. Though the half robot was no Raven, he read the emotions as clearly as written word in boldface type. In addition to the deep-rooted guilt, he saw something else, a glimmering speck that overpowered his senses. He immediately identified it, yet the elder Stone spoke it out, as if to confirm it. "I love you, son. I always have. I was never angry with you. I was only upset you'd despise me for saving your life."
Cyborg said nothing, for at that moment, he walked twenty miles in his father's shoes. He was flooded with the same overwhelming guilt that had infected his father for the past three years.
Silas stumbled over to the bookshelf behind his desk, hesitating as he contemplated his next action. He reached forward, his hand brushing against an obscured object. He withdrew his digits quickly, as if the thing was scalding hot. After a bit more deliberation, he took it up and hastened back to the metal giant.
"I created this quite some time ago," he mumbled, holding up a yellow, disc-shaped device. "It's a locator to track your signature wavelength. If they operate on the same frequency that you do, you'll be able to track them down."
Cyborg accepted the tiny machine, glancing at its grid-lined location screen. Already, three distant blips had registered, no doubt his quarry making plans for future raids. At once he started for the door, but paused in mid step. He turned to his father, who suddenly seemed a much taller man than he had when the meeting began.
"Go kick some butt," the scientist urged. "I'll be here later."
The titanium Titan took his advice with some reluctance, dashing out the front door. Seconds later, an engine roared to life, then screamed into the distance, gradually dying. When it was completely inaudible, Silas wandered back to his cluttered desk, gently lifted the chair to its legs, and sat. He looked at the cracks in the oak wood for a minute or two, reflecting. Then, with a nod to himself, he pressed the red button concealed under his desk.
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In a perfect world, the various spacious warehouses on the piers of the Jump City Bay would be highly trafficked area, a place bursting to the seams with activity: workers dodging about, rushing to complete their duties and punch out, vehicles entering and exiting the massive structures, retrieving supplies to distribute throughout the town, and boats lining up to dock and deliver overflowing crates.
The world is far from perfect. The warehouses on Jump City Bay were largely abandoned, completely devoid of any sign of life. A stray dock employee might be found mindlessly drifting about, but few dared to venture near this location; over the years, it had become a haven for criminal activity, mostly arms deals. Containers of weapons were piled into great hills within those concrete confines, and nobody could do a blasted thing about it.
Naturally, it was within one of these buildings that Cyborg's quarry resided. Stealthily, he scaled the outer wall of the crumbling building, his metallic fingers digging easily into the cracked cement. He vaulted easily through the upper-level window, plummeted downwards for a few feet, and landed with a resounding clang followed by the crunch of the stone floor beneath him. Already he was in a defensive stance, his sonic cannon arm whining as it charged. His head swiveled about, seeking out his opponents. After several grueling seconds, however, no soul was in sight, and all was still; the faint drone of crickets was the only audible sound.
The robot glanced at the tracer, now sticking to his arm by magnet. He reasoned it could be malfunctioning, or picking up the reading from some other source, but the three blips remained, pinpointing the doppelgangers directly in front of him.
As if on cue, the crates surrounding him began to burst open, sending errant pieces of shrapnel sailing about. Cyborg cringed, throwing up his forearms to shield himself. Thick dust permeated the air, causing him to cough and regret just how lifelike his replacement windpipe was. Instinctively, he switched his optics to IR view to cut through the smoke; on the distant side of the warehouse, exactly where the locator had pointed, stood the Cyborgs Three, their heat signature highlighting them clearly. The Titan prepared to charge, but yielded as the true precariousness of the situation was revealed.
Lined up neatly in rows and columns, standing brainlessly amidst the rubble, were foes that Cyborg had come to know all too well in his service; he had battled them dozens of times. Slade had once taken over the city with their aid, and, straining his literal photographic memory, he recalled that Brother Blood had used them to train his brainwashed super-powered students. It was unmistakable; a headless, silver "body, a black X across where the chest would be, and above it, a single, empty glass eye. Cyborg eyed the vice-gripping pincer arms with some anxiety.
In the space of five seconds, he had gone from chasing a trio of petty crooks to facing down a robot army.
A chuckle drew the human android's attention upward. "Do you like my little toys?" cracked a thick Chinese accent. A holographic screen hovered down, stopping inches from Cyborg's face. It displayed the visage of a withered old Chinaman, the upper portion of his face hidden by a bulky pair of solid black goggles and a blocky white helmet. A respirator hose snaked its way out of his loose-fitting collar and disappeared into his nostril. He gleefully rubbed his gloved palms together, like a child about to win a game.
"Real fun, Professor Chang!"
Author's Note: I'm not sure if that was the big reveal everyone was hoping for, but it's what I've got. Good ol' Chang fit in, and I must admit, I have a soft spot for him. Don't worry, this yarn is not yet over, and I'll keep spinning until it is. It's close to done, though. I'd like to thank my creative writing teacher. She knows why…
Next Time: All out action! Cyborg stands alone against an army of robots and three upgraded half-robots. Can the Teen Titans reach him in time to help? Will he want help when they arrive? Don't forget to review, please!