Garfield Logan was writing furiously in his notebook. Introductory biology began with a quick intro and then launched straight into the lecture. The professor had gone through twelve full-text PowerPoint screens already, and class was barely halfway over.

And after bio, he got to go deal with introductory chemistry. As the professor blipped to the thirteenth screen of notes, Gar was certain of two things: first, he would need to buy a bigger notebook, and second, Tuesdays and Thursdays were really going to suck.

When class finally ended, Garfield couldn't feel his hand. He had only fifteen minutes lag time before chemistry started, and if chemistry was going to be anything like biology—

"Hey, Logan!"

Garfield spun around and found himself face to face with Colossus. He blinked and stepped back, revealing that the X-Men fan that had snagged his attention was none other than six foot, eight inch Victor Stone, who sat two desks behind him in biology.

"Uh… hi?"

"You are Garfield Logan! I knew it!"

"Uh, dude, do I know you?"

"Oh, my bad." Victor then offered a rather large hand. "Victor Stone. I sit behind you in bio."

"… Right." Gar tentatively took the hand, and a surprisingly non-crushing grip enveloped his hand in a handshake. "Garfield Logan. …But you already knew that."

"Of course I knew that!" Victor said with enthusiasm. "Who wouldn't recognize Tork?"

Garfield's eyes bugged. "Shhhhhh!" He waved his hands emphatically and grabbed Victor's shirt, pulling him in closer. "Never say that word aloud," he stage-whispered in Victor's ear.

Victor blinked in surprise, and then stood up. Gar's arm straightened and he had to let go of the shirt before being hoisted into the air.

"I'm serious!" he insisted. "No one here can know about that!"

Once again Victor blinked in bemused surprise. "Why not?"

Gar, in less than subtle surreptitious fashion, glanced about quickly to see if anyone was watching or listening in. "Dude, do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have that show on your resume? I mean, I want more for myself and my future than the abysmal earnings of sci-fi convention appearances where old, fat dudes who still live in their parents' basement can ask me all about what I think of all the stupid Odo comparisons."

Victor laughed aloud. "Yeah, well that's ten times better than being asked to do this—" he took one large hand and covered the human side of his face. Then he made his electronic eye glow, and in a computerized and perfect imitation voice, he uttered: "'I'll be back'—at every family gathering."

Garfield burst out laughing. "DUUUUDE! That's awesome! …. Oh, sorry man."

Victor shrugged it off. "Tell me what you think of DS9 and we'll call it even."


"Dude, I think my wrist needs an ice pack," Gar whined to Victor as the two left chemistry class together. "And I thought the biology notes were bad. Can't they print them out for us or something?"

Victor laughed. "If they had the budget to waste on that much paper, you can just bet that there'd be twice as many notes."

"Well, at least I wouldn't have to write them."

"Yeah, but you'd have to carry them."

"Excuse me."

Both Garfield and Victor stopped short as a tall man with dark hair and a Versace suit stepped in front of them on the sidewalk.

"Perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for Richard Grayson."

"Never met him," Victor answered casually.

"Uh… I think he just got out of class," said Gar. "If you head by the dorm, you might catch him."

The man smiled warmly. "Thanks." And he walked away.

"Uh… Who was that?" Victor asked.

Gar blinked. "Bruce Wayne."

Victor's jaw dropped. "As in, C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises Bruce Wayne?"

"Yup."

"Whoa… So what brings a billionaire to Hudson U?"

"Richard Grayson."

Victor blinked. "I say again, what brings a billionaire to Hudson?"

"And I say again, Richard Grayson," Garfield said with mock impatience. "His former ward."

Victor blinked in confusion… again. "Ward? As in foster kid?"

Gar tensed briefly, but let it slide. "Not really. Court-appointed legal guardian. No pretending to be a family whatsoever."

Victor nodded in feigned understanding. "So, I take it you know this Grayson kid?"

"He lives on my floor. Pretty cool guy, actually. I survived summer math because of him."

Victor nodded absently again. "Anyway… I'm starving. You?"

"Dude, totally! Pizza?"

"Cool. Know a place?"

"Oh man, do I ever!"


Dick was on his way back to the dorm. The class he just came from, introduction to criminology, was unfortunately shaping up to be his most boring class to date. After all, the entire syllabus consisted of things he learned at ten, from a far more… interesting… instructor. At least he had the time to nap before economics later on, if criminology really does put him to sleep.

As tired and disinterested as he was, his keen observation skills were still fully tuned to the world around him.

"Bruce…" he spotted the billionaire standing casually outside the main entrance to the dorms, a trench coat slung over one shoulder.

"Hi Dick!" Bruce called out, waving and smiling brightly. He would have known Dick anywhere, no matter what he was wearing. So when the boy finally stepped into view… come to think of it, what was he wearing? Gone were the khakis, loose sweaters, and loafers of the high-flying ward of the billionaire. In their place was a pair of dark boot-cut jeans, Doc Martins, and a black tee shirt over a gray long sleeve shirt that read one by one the penguins are stealing my sanity. Bruce didn't have time to react to the shirt, however. He was too busy noticing how Dick's hair had grown out, and hung in his face in front of his eyes.

"You know, with my credit card, you should be able to afford better."

Dick's eyes narrowed behind the bangs. "Nice to see you too, Bruce."

"At least now I know why you stunk of hair gel. If you're going for stealth, you might want to try a different brand."

Dick's jaw clenched but he swiftly forced himself to relax. "And Bruce Wayne should work on his choice of cologne." Then he snorted. "And this is such a wonderful conversation for a public doorway."

"There's no one within forty feet of us," Bruce returned. "Take a look."

Dick decided not to argue the point. "So what brings you to Hudson University? I doubt you would have bothered with a day off just to return my trench."

"It was as good an excuse as any," said Bruce, his voice unreadable. "And speaking of public places…"

Dick smirked in spite of himself. "You wanna take this someplace more private?"

"Please." A simple request; no more, no less.

Dick sighed and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "My room," he said definitively. "You're probably itching to see it anyway."

"Sure." That patented Bruce Wayne smile. Dick repressed the urge to slug him for it. Instead he gestured half-heartedly for Bruce to follow him and he led the way up to his dorm room.

"I like what you've done with the place," he said casually… right into the surveillance camera hidden in the new ceiling light fixture. Dick didn't see it though; he was too busy shutting the door behind them.

"Can I have my coat?"

Bruce tossed it to him. "That's a nice coat. You should be more careful about where you leave it."

"I'll try and remember that," Dick said flatly as he walked over to his closet.

Bruce's trained eyes swept across the rather upscale dorm room. The bed was shoved into one corner, but at least it was made. Then he noticed the large contemporary C.E.O. style desk up against the next wall, in front of the windows. The rather large bookshelf—stocked mostly with text and reference books, did a sufficient job at blocking the natural lighting. Of course, Bruce didn't think that mattered much to Dick, since his few desk and reading lamps had black or red light bulbs in them.

In the far corner Dick had placed a corner-unit entertainment center, complete with flat-screen TV, DVD, VCR, and four-hundred-disc CD changer. Bose speakers were efficiently hung or placed about the room to give whoever sat on the futon on the near wall the complete surround-sound experience. If Bruce didn't know better, he'd swear that Dick had a few video game consoles hidden somewhere, too.

In all honestly though, Bruce had expected this… excess. Dick was free, on his own, with nearly unlimited money to burn. Of course he'd go to town when it came to accessorizing his dorm room with the latest and greatest. It's what Bruce would have done if he went to real college at Dick's age.

Cool gadgets and gizmos aside, what really stuck out about Dick's dorm room was the decidedly dark and… un-Dick Grayson it was. The expensive area rug that covered most of the floor was a shade of deep vermillion with black spots akin to someone slopping around a wet paintbrush. Eclectic posters were neatly hung to cover most of the walls. There was the classically overdone patriotic Superman poster, a reprint of a German publicity poster for Goethe's Faust, a black and white sketch rendition of a creepy-looking Trent Reznor, a framed calendar portrait of Arkham Asylum from last year's historical society fundraiser, a movie reprint poster for To Kill a Mockingbird, and a rather lovely poster of Wonder Woman doing her best Betty Page impression.

"I'll never understand why the Justice League decided to shamelessly self-promote," Bruce chastised.

Dick smirked. "As I recall, they did it for charity. All but one member, I believe."

Bruce snorted. "The Wayne Foundation made a rather large donation to the cause," he defended.

"Yeah? So did Oliver Queen, and rumor has it he's putting his name to a line of hunting arrows next to benefit wildlife conservation."

Bruce grumbled. "What's next? Barry taking a Reebok endorsement?"

Dick shrugged. "Either that, or batman action figures. Look, I am vengeance! I am the night! I am… suitable for ages three and up."

Bruce leveled his fiercest scowl.

"Complete with karate chop action?"

"Enough." The voice.

Dick's smile faded into a smirk. "Okay, so I won't try and get you a signed one for Christmas."

"Watch it, or I'll get you a pair of Robin-logo flannel pajamas."

Dick's eyes widened devilishly. "Would that count as you giving me a costume to wear?"

"You're impossible," the voice growled. Bruce spun around to head for the door, angry enough to momentarily not care about his original purpose for the visit.

That's when he saw the faded, framed publicity poster for Haly's Circus hanging on the back of Dick's door. He stopped in his tracks, trapped by the smiling faces of the Flying Graysons.

Dick saw Bruce's reaction to the poster, and suddenly their 'discussion' wasn't so fun anymore. For a split second, they both were reliving the exact same moment in time.

"I never had flannel PJs in the circus," Dick said after the moment had passed. His voice was colored by an almost whimsical nostalgia; whimsical and sad. "The first I ever owned were the racecar ones you gave me for my very first Christmas at the manor…"

Bruce nearly smiled. "You wore them all the time. Finally Alfred had to throw them away; he was tired of repairing them."

Dick snorted a laugh. "I don't think I spoke to him for two whole days after that."

"Three, but who's counting? He eventually won you over with a replacement pair of larger racecar flannel pajamas."

This time Dick laughed outright. "And I was so afraid that I'd wear them out that I hardly ever wore them. Alfred gave them away to Good Will the following year."

Bruce couldn't help but finally laugh. "And once again you didn't speak to him for three days."

"I still have the third pair of racecar flannel pajamas he bought me. They're getting a bit short in the legs though."

Bruce nodded. "You've grown."

Suddenly Dick felt uncomfortable with way the conversation was headed. "Yeah, well… it was good to see you, Bruce, but I have to get ready for class."

Bruce looked at his watch. Dick's economics class wasn't for another forty-five minutes. "Of course…" he nodded, trying to convince Dick that he was convinced by the dismissal. "I'll leave you to it." He turned to go.

"I'll walk you down."

"I can find my way."

"Actually, I need to escort you. Housing policy."

Bruce nodded his consent and gestured for Dick to precede him. Dick opened the door and the two of them made their way down the hall, to the elevator, down to the first floor, and out of the building in silence. Now they stood on the front steps of the building in silence, failing miserably at saying goodbye.

"Hudson isn't all that far away from Gotham. I could come down sometime; we could do lunch."

Dick nodded slowly, clicking his teeth. "I'd love to, Bruce, I really would, but I doubt either of us will find the time."

"Yes, well… I've got to run. Alfred's waiting with the car."

"Tell him to drive safely."

"Will do."

Bruce waved. Dick waved back. Bruce turned and walked away. Dick's eyes followed him until he disappeared around a corner. Then he released the breath he didn't even realize he was holding.


"And how did it go?" Alfred asked as Bruce Wayne approached the Jag.

"He's done well for himself," Bruce answered a bit too casually.

Alfred frowned slightly as he opened the door. "Indeed, sir." He went around to the driver's side and let himself in. He glanced at Bruce in the rear view and saw him staring distantly out the side window in the vague direction of Dick's dorm room.

"Did you at least manage to talk about anything, sir?"

Bruce kept his gaze out the window. "Buy him a new pair of racecar flannel pajamas for Christmas, Alfred. He's outgrown the last ones."

"Outgrowing clothes is a side effect of growing up, sir," Alfred observed.

Bruce was silent.

The gentleman's gentleman sighed as he started the car and shifted into gear, deciding that now was not the appropriate time to give the boy a further piece of his mind.

The car radio roared to life with the engine.

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me: he'd grown up just like me. My boy was just like me. And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon—

"Alfred?" (When you comin' home son?—)

"Sir?" (I don't know when, but we'll get together then—)

"Turn that off."(–son.)

"Yes, sir." (–You know we'll have a good time then.)

—CLICK—


"Dude, I'm telling ya, arcane denials are totally kick ass!"

"Naw man, straight counter-spells. Cost the same, and don't allow your enemy to draw cards."

"Correction, you don't need two blue mana, so it's great for a multi-color deck. And I like being able to draw cards."

"Then just build a deck with a high draw capacity. Problem solved!"

"Dude, I gotta get you in a game sometime. I have a royal butt-whooping green deck I just built before coming to Hudson."

"You got it with you?"

"Well, yeah…" Gar reached into the big pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out his Magic deck. "I'm always prepared!" he intoned as he slapped it down.

"Well I'll stack this white/red against your green any day of the week." Victor opened a compartment on his forearm and removed his own deck.

"Dude…"

Victor didn't quite know how to gauge Garfield's reaction.

"That's totally awesome!"

Thusly reassured, Victor laughed and shrugged it off. "Naw man. It's just something I can do."

"I bet you never had to worry about losing your house key as a kid."

The smile sort of fell from Victor's face. "Actually, I wasn't like this as a kid. What you see before you is the product of an accident three years ago."

"Whoa…" Garfield came to his senses quickly, however. "I was three I think," he said, not making eye contact. "I don't really remember what it was like to… not be green."

"That must have been rough," Victor spoke without thinking. "Going through middle school like that, I mean."

Gar simpered and shrugged. "Nothing was as hard as high school though," he deflected. "I changed schools a lot. You think that'd make it easier, with the whole never getting to know anybody deal. But really it was just having to deal with everyone's first reactions over and over again."

Victor Stone looked on his new green friend with sympathy. "I was fifteen. I left public school and got a tutor… after I learned how to walk and talk again."

"I didn't hit public school until high school. I was… home-schooled, before that."

"Wow man," said Victor with a rather silly grin. "It seems we have more in common than I thought. Oh, aside from being in the National Registry of Metahumans n'all."

Garfield laughed at that. Then a wild gleam entered his eyes. "Wonder Woman or Black Canary?"

"Wonder Woman," Victor answered without hesitation. "Hands down. Five foot, eleven inches of pure Amazonian whoop ass! You?"

Garfield shrugged. "I'd go with Black Canary. I've always preferred blonds."

"To each their own I suppose," said Victor. Then he sighed. "You know, it's been a long time since I've been able to talk to anyone about… stuff, I guess."

"Yeah me too," Garfield confessed. "Well, there's Dick, but we don't really talk. I mean, not about… stuff. I mean, we talk and stuff, but not about stuff, you know what I mean?"

Victor's facial expression was one of complete and total confusion.

"What I mean is, he's never asked me, you know, why I'm green? And he never talks much about himself, either."

Victor finally nodded in understanding. "Yeah I think I get it," he said. Then he smiled. "Hey, look. I'll tell you all about my stuff if you tell me all about your stuff. Then, we'll both have someone to talk stuff with."

"DUUUDE!"

Garfield listened intently while Victor Stone began his life's story; or more precisely, the story of his life as a cybernetic being.

Victor spoke of growing up in Metropolis as the only son of research scientists for S.T.A.R. Labs. His parents always put work before family, and Victor always wondered at how they managed to stay married with such philosophies, though it probably had something to do with how disgustingly similar they were on such thoughts. It was a marriage of convenience, and Victor always held himself to be the product of some experiment involving alcohol and the lack of contraceptives.

Gar listened as Victor told him about growing up with parents who only seemed to care about his existence around the time of the school science fair. The Stones were well off, Victor didn't want for anything that money could buy. All he ever wanted though was for his parents to take an active interest in his life. This only happened when they were either praising him for his science grades or reprimanding him for an afternoon spent playing football instead of studying physics.

As Victor got older, he discovered a substitute for parental attention: sports. Lifting weights was a way to vent his frustration, and playing ball with his friends earned him the type of social interaction and attention that was lacking at home. Then when he began his freshman year of high school, he made the varsity football team as a starting defensive tackle. His parents voiced their deep disapproval, but by then they were too busy working on some top-secret government contract to keep tabs on their son's daily comings and goings. Victor knew the type of dedication his parents wanted him to have towards the sciences and converted that into his athleticism. After his sophomore season colleges were already scouting him.

Of course a career in pro football was not meant to be. In the spring of his sophomore year Victor went to visit his parents at work. His parents were always thrilled when he expressed interest in their scientific research, and if they were in a good mood because he used this to his advantage, they would be less inclined to protest loudly in a public place when he informed them that he would be attending football camp that summer.

Unfortunately he never got the chance.

The Stones had two projects going at S.T.A.R. Labs: his father, Silas, was working on the integration of human tissues with cybernetic components as a way of helping disabled veterans while his mother, Elinore, was working on something highly classified for the federal government.

Slowly, methodically, Victor let the story unfold, his voice sounding oddly detached, as though he's had to tell this story over and over again many times, most likely to grief counselors and psychiatrists. Garfield listened, enraptured, as Victor told him how his father brought him into the heart of S.T.A.R. Labs to collect his mother, who must have lost track of time. He told Gar about how, because what she was working on was classified, it was some big conspiracy between his father and the MP guarding the door that allowed Silas to even bring his son into the lab. Once there, Silas gave his son the grand tour—making sure he kept his hands in his pockets and promised not to tell a soul about the visit.

Victor briefly described the layout of the labs, how it looked like an over-glorified high school science classroom, with the long tables for small-scale experimentation and testing, and added to that look the concept of wall-to-wall computer monitors and workstations. On the back wall there was an elevator that led down to some other equipment room, partitioned off by a roof of triple-thick shatterproof glass. Supposedly some sort of inter-dimensional portal was housed in that room—supposed because they hadn't been able to get the darn thing to work yet.

The tour didn't get much farther than that.

In the midst of all the torn out paneling and stripped cabling, somehow the right sequence of events came together. There was a bright flash of blue light, flickering like a nova through a swimming pool. The scientists' gasps of awe were cut off by the groaning impact of an energy burst hitting the glass barrier. The glass cracked into spiders' webs, the ominous sound akin to too much weight stepping onto too-thin ice. The team of scientists reacted quickly, trying to find a way to shut their experiment down while simultaneously trying to find out what made it work today of all days in the first place.

Events unfolded quickly. Suddenly giant tentacles were pushing on the broken glass. One and people started screaming. Two and they began running for the weapons lockers. Three and the glass wall melted and fell apart. Many of the scientists were armed with tasers and were haphazardly firing in its general direction. Alarm bells were sounding and lights were flashing—the MPs had initiated a lockdown. They were trapped!

Victor watched in horror as tentacles slashed through human bodies like butter. Blood and slime sprayed from floor to ceiling as tentacles flicked across the room in random lashings, trying to take out the tasers. Victor spotted his father at a distant computer console, most likely trying to find a way to send the creature back through the portal—or stop other creatures from breaking through.

He was so intent on locating his parents that he stopped paying attention to the creature. Then suddenly he heard a woman scream. It was his mother—when did she get here? Time seemed to slow as Elinore placed herself between the creature and her son. The tentacle flew out and struck another taser-wielding scientist. However, Elinore's movements attracted its attention. A stream of acid ejected from an indistinguishable mouth and burned its way through his mother as though she weren't even there. Victor remembers an agonizing cry, and then all was nothingness.

"And when I woke up," Victor finished, "I was what you see today."

"… Whoa…"

"Of course, I had to learn to walk, and eat, and well, everything, all over again from scratch. That took months. And then, well, there is a difference between being functional, and being proficient. It took a lot longer to get used to the concept that I was some reject from an old-school sci-fi movie."

"And your mom died?" Garfield asked in a quiet voice.

Victor nodded sadly. "There wasn't enough of her left to turn Terminator."

Gar hung his head. "My parents died in a boating accident when I was six," he said. "I saw it happen." Then he got up to throw his trash away in a deliberate manor that said 'we're done here.' Victor followed suit.

"That must have been rough," Victor offered sympathetically as the two began the walk back to campus.

"It was," Gar admitted painfully. "Especially since I was too far away to save them."

"You were six," Victor interjected. "What could you have done?"

"I was fishing, on the shore. My dad had just taught me. Something caught in the boat's motor. I'm not entirely sure how. They knew it was coming, though. Mom screamed. Then the boat exploded. They were in the middle of the river—there was nowhere to go. They knew it was coming, and couldn't stop it. They died in the explosion."

"And you had to watch all that from shore? At six years old?"

"When I heard mom scream… I tried to reach them. I wasn't fast enough. I only got close enough to be slightly singed by the explosion."

Victor's eyes went wide. "Wait, you were swimming?"

Gar flashed a bitter grin and ducked into an alleyway. "No…"

Victor watched in amazement as his favorite effect in television history played out before his eyes. Garfield Logan transformed from petit green human into a beautiful green pelican. Pelican-Gar fluttered a bit and then changed back into a human.

"I was flying."

"… I could have sworn that was just green-screen… Er, what with you being green n'all."

Gar chuckled as he left the ally. "Nope. It was all me, dude." He sighed, and tried to come up with the best way to tell the story.

"My parents were scientists, too. Genetics research. They took me with them to the Congo. I was three when I got sick; this disease that supposedly only animals can get. My parents found a way to cure me through anti-toxins in animal DNA. It worked, but I got to be green for the rest of my life. Then when I was five, I discovered I could change into animals and stuff, so that kinda made the whole 'being green' thing better."

Victor laughed. "Yeah, I bet.

Victor and Garfield laughed, joked, and traded stories about the ins and outs of being 'different' all the way back to campus. The banter turned into an invite for Victor to head up to Gar's dorm room to play videogames. They had made it to the elevator in time to see Dick emerge, his backpack draped over one shoulder.

"Hey Dick!" Gar greeted cheerfully with a wave. "Dude, did Mr. Wayne find you? We ran into him earlier…"

Something indistinct and barely noticeable flashed in Dick's eyes before melting back into serenity. "Yeah he did," he answered. "He was in town for a Wayne Tech meeting and wanted to grab lunch."

"That's cool, dude. Oh! This is Victor Stone. He's in both my science classes. He's heading up to my room so he can get slaughtered in Mega Deathmatch III."

"Pffft! In your dreams, dawg."

"Vic, this is my buddy Dick Grayson."

"The Dick Grayson?" Victor asked in mock-surprise, recalling his earlier conversation with Garfield, who promptly slugged him in the arm—only to quickly shake his hand in pain as Victor laughed.

"The one and only," Gar said through a grimace.

Dick looked on in amusement, reminding himself to ask Gar about it later.

Victor casually extended his hand, and Dick completed the handshake without fear. This welcomed surprise helped Victor's smile grow more genuine.

"Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise. Unfortunately, I have to run. Macro Economics at two-thirty."

"Heh, have fun," Gar teased. "But come! GameStation awaits! I mush thrash you into unrecognizable pieces!"

"HA! Not if I squash you into an ooey-gooey pancake first!" And the two disappeared into the elevator.

Dick shook his head and continued on his way to class. The name 'Victor Stone' was familiar to him, but he couldn't place from where. He mused on how this campus was turning into X-Men: Evolution—The College Years, as he promised himself a date with the Bat-computer tonight.


"—But the graphics of Speed Demonz mops the floor with Crash Course any day of the week!"

"Who cares about graphics! The courses in Crash are soooo much better! I mean—" The elevator doors swung open and conversation halted as they found themselves face to face with—

"Oh, hi Raven!"

The goth girl didn't quite frown, but the sentiment was there. "Garfield."

"Uh… This is my friend Vic Stone."

Victor held out a hand with what he thought was an unassuming grin.

"Charmed," she said to no one as she walked past them into the elevator. She turned around and pushed the button for the ground floor. "I'm going to the library," she added as the doors slid closed.

Garfield and Victor stood staring dumbly at the doors for a moment.

"Uh… Is she always this pleasant?"

Garfield stared after her for a moment, a weird expression on his face, "No, dude. Compared to the first words she ever said to me that was down right cordial."


Song credits: Harry Chapin-Cats in the Cradle; Cats in the Cradle

AN- Everything revealed about Cyborg is comic canon. His father was able to save his life using the cybernetic limb experiments he was working on. Victor, upon seeing what had been done to him, wished that his father had just let him die. They were on the outs for a long time, until Victor became Cyborg and started saving the world. Only then did he come to terms with what he was, and was able to patch things up with his dad. It was then that his dad decided to front the money to build Titans Tower, as sort of a thank-you to his son's friends for enabling Victor to find his self-worth. Obviously the Titans, when they first began, didn't have the tower, since Cyborg wasn't even an original Titan.