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Chapter Six
1
November 23rd
Bludhaven, 4:40 PM
Beast Boy looked up at the sky. Thin, gray, dreary. Water dripped from above, smog floated from various smokestacks.
He had never liked the city. Even as a child, he had hated Bludhaven. Speaking honestly, who wouldn't?
On the couch, Cyborg sighed. "So what exactly are we supposed to be doing, here?"
But Beast Boy had no reply to give.
Heaven above, earth below
When a dragon sings fog is formed
When a tiger roars the wind rises
A grand, motherly, kindness
To contemplate the lotus
What did some fake mission matter when you could see your dead sister playing outside in the rain?
She'd never played in the rain, when she was alive. She hated getting wet. He remembered, once, one of the hired help had turned on the sprinklers and set them out in the yard. Beast Boy had laughed and played in them, but she...
For forty-five minutes, his younger sister had taken tentative steps towards the hissing water, but had retreated time and again.
So why was she out there, playing in the rain? She was dead. Dead people did not wander around the dangerous streets of Bludhaven when it was raining and the smog factories were at top production. Especially if said dead people had never liked getting wet when they were alive.
"She's going to get sick," Beast Boy murmured. "And she never liked rain, anyway."
"Uh, BB? What are you talking about? You see someone out there that you know?"
Cyborg rose, began to move over to the window.
No.
"No!" Beast Boy closed the curtains, the metal rings tinkling harshly on the curtain rod. The room went dark abruptly. He ignored it and turned away from the window. "No, I didn't see anybody."
"Then what were you talking about?"
Come on, come on. Think of a convincing lie.
"I was just reciting aloud. Didn't mean to. You know...?" The words were rushing out of him, pouring like metallic water out of a rusty drain. Like blood out of an arterial wound. Like shit out of your asshole when you had diarrhea.
"You know I used to memorize things right? It was just words from a song my sister used to like. Sometimes the stuff I memorize comes back to me like a song you get stuck in your head. Ever had that? It's the worst when all you remember is the words, but not the tune so you can't even sing it."
Cyborg only stared at him. That was okay. Cyborg could think he was lying. That he had a crush.
Stupid teenaged hormonal drama shit. But Cyborg would back off for now.
As Cyborg headed back to the couch and Beast Boy headed to make sure that he had locked the door, a sudden thought occurred to him.
Except the instant he had it, it just rushed straight out of his brain, like a train knocking an eighteen-wheeler out of its path. Just kaboom, gone.
All it took was the image of a little red ball rolling down the hallway— a red ball that couldn't possibly be there, because that ball had been on the street and rolled and rolled and rolled until it hit the wreckage and got stuck on something sharp and deflated with a sound that was something like a cross between Cyborg farting and a balloon popping.
He had watched it, at his tender age. He had watched it and gotten caught somewhere between wishing it had sounded louder, more like the scream he wanted to make, and wishing it had been softer, less like the BANG-BANG-BANG of that thing.
He had killed an entire family, and not just his own, by his mere presence on a mostly empty street.
And wasn't that the craziest bullshit of all?
2
November 23rd
Gotham City, 8:21 PM
This is life: eat dinner, put on a ridiculous costume, go out at night to illegally fight crime, come home.
They started to head out, into the red-skied yonder, where crazy criminals committing crazy crimes awaited.
Except tonight, there was a break from routine.
"Robin. Stay here. If Tim Drake has really been kidnapped—"
"—What!" Starfire gasped. "Robin, you did not inform me of this!"
...Oh shit. He hadn't, had he?
"Uh, Star? Can we talk about that later?"
"No, Robin, we obviously must talk about this now. At this very moment. Am I not your partner? Your friend? Your teammate? Did you learn nothing from your masquerade as Red-X?"
Robin looked away. Little as he wanted to admit it, Starfire had a point.
"I was going to tell you. . . I just never found the time."
You were always on my mind. I just never found the time.
Starfire turned away, too.
And Batman stood in the shadows, silent. Watching. Waiting for the tension to come to a head. But if they didn't resolve this soon, Batman would have them delay the issue and get back to business.
"Starfire. . . I wasn't trying to hide things from you, okay? I just never found the right time to tell you."
Starfire looked up at him. Those vivid green eyes were so wide. . . She gave him a slow look. "You are forgiven."
She didn't say, This time. She didn't need to say it. They both knew it.
"Robin, get on the Cray and see if Tim Drake really has been kidnapped. Hack into the Boys' Prep security cameras if you must. Check the Drake family security cameras, too. If he is missing, alert the police. They might be able to get a better idea of what's going than we will. . . For a little while."
Robin nodded.
"Starfire. Come with me. You and Batgirl are going out patrolling together. I'll assign your section of the city when we get to the clock tower."
And with that, with the swirl of a black cape and a brief, dim flash of red in the darkness, they were gone.
Robin turned to the Cray. It sat against the wall, acting like the obstinate computer it was.
The first thing he did was hack the Drake security. That was easy enough, even if he wasn't a whiz at programming and hacking. The Drake family hadn't exactly made it hard for somebody who could hack the Watchtower if he really, really, really wanted to and wanted to die a gruesome death by Batman.
Close examination of the surveillance tapes showed no signs of Tim Drake. Robin thought he saw movement in one frame, so he zoomed in, slowed it down and replayed it.
It was nothing. Just the shadow of a security guard.
Inspection, with digital enhancements, of all the vehicles that pulled up to the Drake manor revealed that Tim hadn't shown up at home.
After that, he hacked into the Boys' Prep security cameras. He checked the high school security blocks. None of them revealed a thing. Except.
HS Lot A3. Special van services to provide the sons of Gotham's crème de la crème with rides home.
It showed Tim calling out to some boy. And then he turned and saw another person. The other person waved him down. Robin couldn't see the face, because some sort of plastic suit covered it. Rather like the one Ventrix had worn as an invisibility suit.
Tim walked over to the other person, looking dazed. The other person (whom Robin labeled as "Plastic Face") led Tim to a car.
It was a white van. Well, he assumed it was white. Plastic Face had coated it with the same stuff he wore, so he couldn't tell. After running the tape through the a few image filters, he managed to make out the numbers on the license plate on the front of the vehicle. It read NGI-925. It was an out of state tag. New York.
Robin pulled up a new window with access to New York's DOT. He entered a false employee ID and pin number, then entered the plate number. He doubted the license plate was real, but if he could find someone who had a van stolen, it would be a start.
He turned back to the tape.
The van was beat-up and dirty, but Tim ran his hands along the exterior like a boy caressing his first car. The sight made Robin shudder. It was like watching a lamb go frolicking to the slaughterhouse.
Plastic Face opened the door for Tim. Tim got in. In the van, just barely visible through the windshield, something moved.
Robin zoomed in, ran the image through several programs with numerous filters, and replayed the movement.
A woman moved from the back of the van, a huge knife in her fist, to caress Tim's face and neck, as well as jam the edge of the blade into his neck.
Apparently blissfully unaware that a crazy woman could at any minute slice open his jugular, Tim laughed. He seemed to be in a dreamlike state. He chatted with Plastic Face, a relaxed expression on his face.
Robin watched the tape, sickened. This was crazy bullshit, this was.
It was at this moment that his T-Communicator began to play its little tune.
"Robin."
"Yo, Robin, it's Cyborg. I've got some bad news, and I've got some worse news. Which do you want first?"
"Worse news."
"Okay, then. I think BB's going insane."
Robin blinked. What did you say to that? What did you do when somebody confronted you with the fact that one of your team was. . .
They remained silent for a little while.
"How crazy?" Robin asked. When he spoke, his voice sounded cracked. Hoarse.
"Really crazy. Dangerous crazy. I think he's losing his grip on reality."
Robin closed his eyes, inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. His fists clenched. "And the bad news?"
"The bad news is that I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing here. I mean. . . Just what is there to protect around here?"
"The same thing we had in Jump City: civilians."
"This isn't Jump City, Robin. This isn't even half as nice as Gotham. Do you understand? It would take the entire Justice League combined to put the barest dent in the shit from the black lagoon we've got here."
Bludhaven couldn't be that bad, could it? Robin mentally filed away that tidbit for future use. He wasn't sure when he would need to use it, but it might just come in handy someday.
"I honestly don't think we can do much good here, Robin. Why don't Beast Boy and I head to Stone City? Titans East could probably do with some help."
The Cray pinged, at he looked up at the screen. The program trolling New York's DOT had pulled up a match for the plate.
Sean David Couch, born in 1978, registered his vehicle in 2000. Robin pulled up yet another new window, this time hacking into the West Babylon police database. The vehicle registration number and license plate number pulled up, oddly enough, no match on search for stolen vehicles. And according to the West Babylon PD, Sean Couch hadn't reported his vehicle missing.
"Robin? Are you there?"
"I'm here. . . I just think I may have found the guy who kidnapped Tim Drake."
". . .Somebody kidnapped Tim? Why would they want to do that? Ransom?"
Cyborg didn't know that Tim knew his identity, it seemed.
"I'm not sure." It could be because Tim knows my identity, but. . . "They haven't made any demands, yet, so there's really no telling."
Cyborg sighed. "Much as that sucks, I know you can find him. Now, back to my problem. I have no idea what I'm doing in Bludhaven. I can't do any good in this place. BB isn't exactly helping, if you know what I mean."
"Just. . . Stay there for now, okay? I'd be fine with you heading back to Jump City if Raven didn't have something complicated going on down there right now."
"Something complicated? What the hell you talking about?"
"Apparently, she's dealing with some sort of terrorist cult thing. They gave her Jell-O."
"And this is a bad evil nasty cult, how?"
"Well, they blew up an abandoned building."
"That's illegal, yes, but it's not bad, evil, or nasty. So they're bad guys, how, exactly?"
"And they're headed to Gotham at some point. Not sure when, but they're definitely coming this way."
"Coming to Gotham isn't a crime. If living in Gotham isn't a crime, then visiting it can't be."
"Doesn't it strike you as suspicious that a cult that likes to blow things up and refuses to speak English in public has purchased tickets to Gotham city?"
Cyborg paused for a moment. His face relaxed into a thoughtful expression. "Not really, no."
Robin pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Some people just didn't get it.
3
November 23rd
Jump City, 5:23 PM
Raven logged into the computer in the evidence locker. With deceptive calm, she hacked into the Jump City airport records, looking for recent mass ticketing on flights to Gotham. She activated a program that would trace credit and debit card numbers back to their real bank accounts.
The presumed leader of the cult had handed out plane tickets. . . But they might have been smart enough to purchase all the tickets under different names or accounts.
As it turned out, the leader hadn't.
Teenagers. So naive.
Raven couldn't think of a reason to purchase eighteen tickets to Gotham on the same flight, all seats located near each other. Especially if you purchased them all under the pretext of "ZORION Children's Home & Language Institute".
The cult had purchased tickets on a flight that left the next day.
Raven swore. In one of the cabinets in the evidence locker, her bowl of red Jell-O quivered like. . . Well, a gelatinous substance. With the sudden wrath she felt, it should have exploded in gelatinous red lumps like bits of flesh, but brighter red.
She flipped open her T-Communicator, contacted Robin.
"They're headed out for Gotham tomorrow. And they can make indestructible Jell-O."
"I'll see if I can send the Bat-Jet out for you. Pack your things. Wayne will land you a commercial flight if Batman won't part with the jet." Robin paused. "And bring that Jell-O with you, will you? I've got to see this."
"Understood. I'll head out tomorrow, then."
Robin moved away from his communicator for a moment. When he returned, he informed her, "Alfred will fly out almost immediately. Pack now. He should be there within three to four hours."
The Bat-Jet was considerably faster than most planes she'd heard of, then. Then again, it was a jet. Jets were by nature faster.
Jump City, 10:02 PM
She stood on the roof of the Tower. Behind her, the pool's metal cover retracted back over the pool with a groaning sound. She had shut down pretty well everything in the Tower. She had sent all its electricity-requiring functions into hibernation, except (of course) for the security system. She'd even turned off the Jacuzzi.
Something black swept through the sky, and then landed on top of the roof. The force of the jet's landing shook the roof and jarred her bones.
The engines didn't even cut completely off, but a white-haired old man lifted the jet's hatch and kicked out a staircase.
"Miss Raven, I presume?" The man inquired. "I am Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family butler. I do believe you have already packed your bags and are ready to go?"
He had a British accent. A very nice, very cultured British accent. And he didn't so much look old as. . . Well. . . Respectable? Venerable, maybe.
She nodded.
"Please, allow me to take your bag. And do watch your step as you go in. The third step from the bottom doesn't always stay secure."
The British man took her bag. It was a gentle, polite action, but somehow firm, as well.
"In the miniature refrigerator, I have a salad ready to toss and dress. I'm afraid that making tea won't be possible on this trip, but I prepared iced tea before I left."
Alfred. The guy with the British accent who'd only called once or twice. A week. When he wasn't nearly dying from a heart attack over worry for "Young Mah-stah Robin." When he was nearly dying from worry, it was more like once or twice a day.
Robin had described him as a serious mother hen, and Raven couldn't help but agree with that description as Alfred expertly tossed and dressed the salad he'd refrigerated and then poured her some iced tea.
"Alfred," Robin's voice murmured from the speakers. "Titan Tower defense systems say you've landed. What's the situation?"
"Miss Raven and I are settling in. We will take off in perhaps five more minutes."
"Good. You in there, Raven?"
"I'm here."
"Do you have the Jell-O?"
Raven laughed. She pulled her bag out of the seat next to her and unzipped it. She then pulled several dozen plastic and zip-lock bags off of a metal container. She lifted the container's lid.
Alfred's left eyebrow rose. She stretched so she could see the com screen. In it, Robin's eyes widened. And in the background, Batman was glaring at the thing she held in her left hand.
"Is that carnivorous?" Robin asked.
"It hasn't eaten me yet. But it is indestructible."
They nattered for a few minutes as Raven calmed her nerves about spending four hours in a relatively cramped space (sure, the Bat-Jet was nice, but it was still a jet. You could only go so far adding luxury to the design before you started losing what made it a jet: speed) with a man who was basically Robin's grandfather. Or second mother. Or something like that.
After they put the comlink in silent mode, Raven only got about fifteen minutes of silence. During that time, she fidgeted and tried to meditate, but she just couldn't seem to clear her mind.
Behind her, the bright lights of Jump City began to fade. The shape of Titans Tower blurred.
Had she abandoned her duty to Jump City by leaving for Gotham? And what could possibly await her there? Starfire would probably find herself torn between annoyed that Raven just couldn't seem to stay away from Robin and being overjoyed that there was another girl in the house.
But what about Batman? What would he think of her? Would it matter? Was he as cruel as Starfire seemed to think (and this was mostly based on emails passed between the two).
When Raven's fifteen minutes of far from restful silence ended, she knew by the strange sound coming from her bag.
That sound could only mean one thing: Silkie. That crazy little moth/caterpillar-eating machine-thing had found a way into her bag. Just as well, really. Starfire would have bawled for days if Silkie died of starvation.
Considering Silkie's apparent ability to digest absolutely anything, Raven doubted he was capable of starving, but still.
She unzipped the bag. Silkie crawled (more like oozed, but referring to it as 'crawling' helped minimize the emotional trauma) onto her torso and curled up in her arms.
"Dare I inquire just what that is?"
"It's a giant bug. Named Silkie. Want to know more, talk to Starfire."
Alfred took one look at the little off-white creature and turned back to flying the jet.
"Mr. Pennyworth—"
"—Oh heavens, child, I don't think anyone's called me 'Mr. Pennyworth' in years. Please, call me Alfred."
Raven caught a glimpse of the desert surrounding Jump City. The Los Muertos Desert, though the locals had nicknamed it Los Muertos.
"Alfred, then. Do you have anything to sweeten this tea with?" She hadn't touched the tea until a moment ago.
Alfred pressed a series of buttons and keys at the console, and then stood up. He strode straight to a flight cubby, unlocked its hatch and pulled out a porcelain jar with a large spoon attached.
Porcelain? On a jet?
But when she lightly touched the jar with her power, she realized that it wasn't porcelain. It was merely a heavy opaque plastic.
Two large spoonfuls of sugar— and that was real sugar, too, judging by the graininess of it— dumped into the pitcher of iced tea. Alfred stirred it up, then replaced the pitcher's lid.
"And how much would you like in your glass?" He asked. "Will a tablespoon do it?"
Raven flushed. "You don't have to do it for me."
Alfred gave her a long, patient look. It said it all, really: you are a guest. I am a butler. This is what I do. This is what I like to do, and I won't hear of things being done any other way.
"A tablespoon is fine."
He withdrew a spoon from another locked cabinet and added it to her glass.
Here is life also: he serves, you thank him, he tells you that you're quite welcome and goes back to his original business.
Somehow, they started talking. She wasn't sure when or how, but they did. He told her amusing stories about Robin when he was a small child. She told him amusing stories about Robin in the Titans.
It was as if they were trading off Robins. Comparing notes. Gaining each other's knowledge of him.
And then the peace shattered. Silkie, who had wriggled out of her arms, made a horrible screeching sound.
She looked down at it. Some sort of red, gelatinous, liquid dribbled from the moth-caterpillar-larva-thing's mouth. Not far from Silkie at all, the Invincible Jell-O quivered and oozed itself back into shape, like Plasmus healing a wound.
Silkie had tried to eat the Jell-O. The Jell-O had resisted the attempt.
Raven didn't know if she should have been horrified or amused.
Well, there you go. Got it up even earlier than I thought I would. Next chapter should be here before June 3 2005, too. And I finally got a list of all the fic ideas I have. I'm thinking of assigning days on which topost updates of my fics. Weekly work will be good for me, and I'll get a lot more done that way.
