Did anyone see "The Lost Episode" of Teen Titans on a few months back? You know; it was about fifteen minutes long, had another lame British villain (although actually I like Mad Mod -) in it by the name of Punk Rocket, and was basically about the amount of ear wax in Beast Boy's ears. If this seems random, it will now become relevant; I went to see Rooster (British band, if you didn't know) with my friends Carys and Jess the other night. The band was awesome and we had a really great view; we were right at the front, literally about three feet from the stage. Unfortunately… we were also two feet from a ten-foot-high speaker. All I can say is "Ow". I now know how the Titans felt against Punk Rocket and his millions of amplifiers…

Anyway, I know I'm probably boring you all, so you don't really have to read this if you don't want to; this is just the routine "Thankyou for reading my pitiful attempt at a Teen Titans fan-fiction and actually liking it (I hope)!" to all of my reviewers. And right now I'm about to welcome some new readers/reviewers, as well as welcome back the old hands…

To newbies Sarah Shima, Seductive Angel and Rocky Wolf (I have updated Small Print especially for you! -); I'm really glad you're enjoying it, and I hope to be hearing a lot more from you! And it's nice to hook up with fellow Robin-obsessive people!

To AutumnDynasty (this is the chapter you "like", right? -); to Quinn (you could not make a book out of Ultimately; it's only fifteen-odd lines long…); to YamiTai (yeah, things… um, "heat up" now… and as for your Robin Hood analogies?… Weird, but hilarious!); to KamiElf (you're back! Yay! I don't give lessons on Angst writing – Asylum isn't categorized as Angst, actually – but I have written two angsty one-shots: Who Killed Cock Robin? and Small Print (now UPDATED!). I don't know, they might help you, if you want to read them…); to Narroch06 (ok, I understand your terming of "beast" now. And there seems to be a distinct shortage of tumbleweeds around here lately…); and to my #1 reviewer, Yami no Kaiba, who will always painstakingly shoot me down if I get something wrong (thanks for the review on Small Print – now updated; a whole new chapter! More RobinSlade! – and for your comments on Ch. 9, Summoning Songbirds. Although… you said Slade going back on his word makes you "squee". Define; is that a good thing or a bad thing?…).

And to Phoenix Skyborne and Alexnandru Van Gordon… Well, I know neither of you reviewed, but you are old hands I guess, and I hope you enjoyed Summoning Songbirds if you did read it (and, incidentally, thankyou v. much to Phoenix Skyborne for your reviews on Ultimately and Small Print. I'm reading Changes: Nine Months More at the moment. I'll let you know what I think!).

To DarkMarkLv; are you still there! Argh! Come back!

And to all that read Small Print; sorry if this sounds a bit like it. This did actually come first.

Behind the Mask

"Dear me, no… Me killing you, of course…"

Slade's words echoed around the recreational hall, seeming to ricochet off the walls like a golf ball.

Robin scowled.

"That's not necessarily how it's-"

"Of course it is, Robin," Slade interrupted calmly, coming right up to him. "And you know it. It was written centuries ago that it would end like this. I offered you the chance to join me and you refused. I forced you to join me and you betrayed me. There is no other way that this can end. You can't beat me, Robin, you're not strong enough. Maybe in a few years that would be different, but now?..." He laughed softly. "You haven't got a hope."

A blow faster than Robin could follow sent him to the ground, where he struggled to get up again.

"I knew you'd come," Slade went on. "I know how your mind works, Robin, because it's so similar to mine. I let the Joker handle the letter, and I don't think he did a very good job of it, but I knew you'd come regardless of whether you thought it was Batman or not. I know how inquisitive you are, and how determined you are."

"You don't know anything about me," Robin snapped. "You don't know who I am, you don't know where I'm from, you don't know what I've been through. You don't know anything! To you I'm just some kid superhero who does nothing but wreck all your plans!"

He got to his feet, grounded himself and threw all of his weight into a punch that should have knocked Slade senseless. But Slade simply caught his wrist and painfully twisted it to the point of breaking.

"Perhaps," Slade agreed, holding Robin's wrist at that painful angle and hearing the Titan grunting and squeaking in agony. He tossed him backwards to the floor again, where the boy landed on his rear and nursed his twisted wrist.

"But it makes no difference," he went on. "The outcome will be the same."

Robin hauled himself to his feet again, trying to ignore the pain of his wrist, and slid into a low battle stance.

Behind his mask, Slade smiled.

"See, this is why I like you…"

Without warning he swung a powerful punch at Robin's face, which the Boy Wonder ducked by a scant half-inch and dived into a roll that set him behind Slade. He swung into a roundhouse kick but Slade caught his ankle and shoved him backwards to the floor. Robin landed flat on his back, bumping his head and knocking his breath from his chest, and opened his eyes to see Slade coming at him again. Desperately he put his hands behind his head and flipped himself into a crouch, catching Slade with his feet as he did so and knocking him backwards. He straightened up as Slade backflipped, not quite as gracefully as Robin himself would have executed, but it was heavier and more deliberate. No sooner was Slade upright than he was launching himself at Robin again, snapping a high, hard kick at his head; Robin dived low, avoiding it, and twisted his body into a swipe that took Slade's legs from under him. He backflipped as Slade fell, landing low, and waited for him to get up again. But Slade wasn't as easily winded as the Joker, Johnny Rancid, or indeed even Poison Ivy had been, and was on his feet again in no time. Robin rose and handsprung towards him, landing lightly and going into a sharp rapid pattern of jabs and punches, as aggressive as the previous night against the dummy. Slade blocked every one, caught hold of his arm and threw him headlong across the room. Robin crashed painfully into what appeared to be a sideboard complete with sinks and slid to the floor, willing himself not to black out. His vision was slightly unclear as he looked up and saw Slade lazily approaching him. He hauled himself to his feet, placed his hands on the sideboard behind him and backflipped onto it with the ease of a gymnast. From up here he had a pretty clear view of the room he and Slade were fighting in. Two very dim striplights that cast barely any light, concrete floor, concrete walls, a few tables and chairs scattered at the far end, and at this end a sideboard with sinks and ovens.

All the fun of a recreational hall, he mused, looking back at Slade, who was still leisurely sauntering over. He waited until Slade was as close as possible before leaping from the sideboard and somersaulting through the air over his head. He landed behind him and sent a whip-kick at Slade's back, catching him near the bottom of his spine and sending him to his knees. Slade, however, didn't stay down long.

"You're going to pay for that," he spat, getting to his feet again. He spun into a powerful roundhouse which Robin had to practically bend over backwards to duck, coming into a very rough backflip, but as the Boy Wonder straightened up again Slade snatched out at him and grasped the front of his shirt. He used all of his strength to throw Robin over his head towards the sideboard again, but Robin twisted over at the last minute and landed on his feet, albeit not too gracefully. He straightened up but was sent crunching to his knees as Slade kicked him directly in the belly, thoroughly winding him. He groaned and curled up, able to do little else.

"Told you you'd pay," Slade said softly, crouching down next to him and running a hand over his shoulder blades. At his touch Robin felt a sudden hatred well up inside him and he threw himself at Slade, still winded, and landed on top of him, trying to get at his throat.

"Don't be ridiculous," was all Slade said, before raising his knees and forcefully throwing Robin off him backwards against the sideboard. Robin banged his head again in the same place and slid down to the cold concrete floor in a daze.

Was this truly what he had come all the way to Arkham for? To be killed by his arch-nemesis? To be kicked around without any back-up? To face the final showdown?...

Yes, it was. He knew it was. Slade was right, this was the only way it could be. If Robin truly feared that he was becoming Slade, then the only way to solve it was to let a final battle like this decide the verdict.

Do or die.

So he got up again; he forced himself to get up again. And was sent back to the floor again by another blow to the stomach. Slade was killing him.

"You disappoint me, Robin," Slade said quietly. "The last time we fought you were better than this. Faster. Stronger. Because your little friends were in peril, hmm? I really don't think you care if I kill you."

"Maybe… I don't," Robin answered breathlessly. Slade snorted.

"And here I thought the witch girl was the depressed suicidal one," he said mockingly.

"Don't drag… them into… this," Robin said, still breathless. "This is… our fight."

Slade chuckled softly.

"Don't I know it."

He walked away from Robin, glancing about as though a would-be buyer looking around a suburban house. Robin watched him, rubbing hard at his mid-section to try and ease the pain, and noticed that Slade seemed to be losing interest in killing him very rapidly.

Jeez, am I boring him that badly?...

Using the sideboard for support he struggled to his feet again, his breathing heavy, and glared balefully at Slade, who seemed to be ignoring him. Fine, he could use that to his advantage. He pulled a birdarang from his belt, aimed it carefully and threw it with all his strength. It arced through the air, picking up speed as it went, directly at Slade's left shoulder. There was no way it could miss…

At the very last second Slade whipped around and parried the birdarang off, deflecting it with one of the metal arm-guards on his costume. It sailed in the opposite direction and hit one of the two striplights, shattering it and causing it to go out. At once the room darkened again, the only light issuing from that one remaining strip.

Robin blinked up at the broken light, realising that he hadn't done himself a favour. If Slade was anything like Batman, less light was more, and on top of that he'd now lost two birdarangs. He looked back at Slade and cursed himself when he saw he was gone. He turned to face the sideboard, in case Slade was on top of it waiting to attack him, but found nothing. Confused, he warily stepped backwards, and wasn't in the least bit surprised when he bumped into something. Before he could turn around he felt Slade's hands enclose around his shoulders and he froze.

The dream, that damn dream…

"Attacking when your opponent's back is turned," Slade said softly. "Not very sporting…"

"You'd know," Robin spat. He tensed as he felt Slade's grip on his shoulders tighten slightly.

"Yes, I would. That's why we're so alike."

"We've had this conversation before," Robin reminded him icily.

"Hmm. Didn't it ever cross your mind why?"

Robin opened his mouth to answer but no sound came out.

"Because no matter how much you deny it, you can't change the way you are. You can't change the fact that we are similar. You can't change the fact that you are being a fool by not joining me."

"I would never join you."

Slade laughed softly.

"Well, I know that. More's the pity."

He touched Robin's hair ever so gently, just enough that he would feel it.

Just like in the dream…

"Stop it!" Robin snapped, wrenching himself away from Slade and turning to face him. He was furious, but also… confused, if that was how to describe it. Like if Slade touched him again he wouldn't mind so much.

Slade seemed almost amused.

"Stop what?"

"Just… everything!" Robin said sharply, backing up against the sideboard. "You… you're just confusing me, I don't know… I can't think straight! Whatever you're doing, stop!"

Slade appeared confused now too.

"I'm not doing anything."

He came closer to Robin, but almost unwillingly.

"Get away from me," Robin warned. It was so dark; he could barely see Slade at all even though he was less than two feet in front of him.

Slade didn't answer him, but seconds later Robin felt his hand on his waist.

"What the hell are you doing!" He shrieked. Slade removed his hand.

"I don't know. I suppose I should… punch you, or something…"

It almost sounded like a question, as though Slade was asking him what to do next.

Whatever, he really, really didn't like this. Slade had just touched him in the non-hurty way, which was considerably worse. He seemed… suddenly not Slade-like at all. His confident, almost-arrogant way of speaking had faltered; he was like an actor who hadn't learned his lines.

And Robin didn't intend to be a part of this production any longer. He swung his fist back, throwing all of his weight into the blow, but even in the dark Slade easily dodged it. His personality might have lobotomised; shame the same couldn't be said for his fighting technique. Slade caught his wrist again and shoved him painfully backwards against the sideboard. Relieved, Robin caught himself thinking that everything had gone back to normal.

This assumption was remedied as Slade suddenly forced his hand over Robin's masked eyes and the Titan heard distinctly that Slade was pulling off his own mask. Not that it made much difference; it was too dark too see anyway, but Robin struggled, trying to pull Slade's hand away from his eyes so that he could see. He had been waiting for this for what seemed like forever, the chance to unmask his arch-nemesis.

"What… are you-"

His words were killed as he felt something warm and wet touch his mouth, Slade's firm lips against his own mid-speech. Slade's hand was still over his eyes, blinding him, but he knew what was happening.

Slade was kissing him.

Alarm bells went off in his head as he realised it and he freaked, desperately trying to shove Slade off him. He didn't understand why this was happening. Slade hated him, and vice versa. He would rather Slade kicked him around than this.

And yet… even now, there was some little voice in his head telling him not to resist, even though he desperately wanted to. For some reason the feeling of horror was starting to… fade, and he didn't know why. His retaliation was unwillingly becoming less so, as though something was taking over his mind and forcing him to withstand it.

Yes, he could feel it now. He felt almost unreal, as though a part of another dream, a horribly sick obscure one, and yet he didn't want to wake up. His sanity had completely abandoned him, as had his rationality, and it seemed that Slade was being intoxicated by a similar feeling. It was sexual and terrible and yet, somehow, it felt… right.

So he let Slade kiss him. And he kissed him back. He couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss his enemy, but he had a feeling that even if he didn't want to, he wouldn't have been able to stop. He was no longer in control, and he didn't know why he accepted it so calmly, but he did. He was no longer in the real world.

His eyes were closed now, and he felt Slade slowly remove his hand from his eyes, but he didn't care about what was behind the mask anymore. His eyes didn't open, even when Slade's large hands came into contact with Robin's own quivering body, touching him, casting him further into that terrible spell that had a hold over them both. He could feel one of Slade's hands at the back of his head, caressing his hair, touching the tender bump where he had hit his head twice. The kiss broke off for a second or two, then restarted deeper and more passionately as Slade put his other hand under Robin's thighs and hoisted him up to sit on the sideboard where they resided at the same height. Robin's own hands, as though of their own will, were now in Slade's hair. He couldn't see, he didn't know what Slade looked like, but his fingers still ran through what he assumed were short, untidy locks. He could feel Slade's hands at his waist, unclasping his belt, and couldn't comprehend why he didn't care; he heard a scraping thud as Slade tossed his belt aside and he realised that he was now weaponless but he still didn't care. For some reason he seemed to have forgotten how to care about anything. He could feel Slade's cold gloved hand sliding up his shirt, running over his bare skin, and strangely enjoyed it. The fact that he and Slade were mortal enemies seemed to make the contact more pleasurable, more satisfying. He slid along the sideboard a bit and accidentally fell into one of the sinks, exposing more of his thighs which Slade was only too obliged to run his hands along. With the boy stuck like that Slade pushed his green spandex-clad legs further apart, his hand sliding lower, out from beneath Robin's shirt…

Down to deeper, more secret places.

Robin tried to hoist himself out of the sink but Slade wouldn't let him. His hand brushed briefly between Robin's thighs, sending a shiver down the teenaged boy's spine. Robin barely realised how wrong it was anymore; it suddenly seemed so natural… He and Slade were so alike – why should they not be attracted to each other in this terrible way? All of those beatings, all of the cruel games… Everything suddenly seemed to make sense, as though poison was taking hold of his mind.

Forcing him to believe what they were doing was right. Allowing him to justify what he knew, deep down, was wrong.

They had not come up for air at all but Robin felt that suddenly he didn't need to breathe. But then they broke and Robin gasped with it, the air suddenly tasting bitter. He sought Slade again, near whining with his desperation, his eyes still closed, but Slade ignored his non-lingual protests, pressing his mouth to the boy's throat. Robin gasped again, tipping his head back as he felt Slade bite into him, as though his skin was that of an apple. It hurt but he liked it; right on his jugular, above the high, tight black neck of his cape.

A mark of minute-long passion.

Slade's hands slid up over Robin's slight, quivering form to the neckline of his cape, as though debating whether or not to pull it off, and Robin wanted him to. His mouth lifted from Robin's thin neck, leaving an imprint of his contact; and their lips met again and it didn't feel wrong. As though he had walked out of the real world, out of a place that restrained him by forcing him to be…

…Something that he wasn't. And all of the worry of that came with what he was – Robin, leader of the Teen Titans, ex-sidekick of the Batman – had suddenly melted away. What did he care if he killed his friends? If his hands became permanently stained with their blood?

Why did anything matter?

Why should he care about anything when he could be here? Locked in some secret world he had never known existed; some world that he had suddenly found a doorway to.

Some world that he didn't ever want to leave.

And then he was thrown out of that world headlong back into the real dimension, and for a second felt as though he was waking up from a dream.

The same couldn't be said for Slade, however, who was still groping and kissing him.

Robin was unsure how it had got to this, or why he had let it happen. But suddenly a torrent of hatred and anger and humiliation welled up inside him and he swung his feet up and cracked Slade in the chest, throwing the villain off him to the floor. Slade landed with a heavy crunch and lay there for a few seconds and it seemed that he was also re-entering the real world.

Whatever had taken over them both, it was gone, and if anything their hatred for each other had swelled beyond proportion. Robin heard Slade mutter something and put his mask back on, maybe to hide from the reality of what had just happened. Robin gathered all of his strength and heaved himself out of the sink, then turned his back on Slade and leaned over the sideboard. He rocked dangerously over the sink, his eyes closed, waiting for the heaving of his stomach to force what little he had eaten that day back out of him. It didn't come and he roughly shoved his fingers down his throat, all to get rid of the feeling. He felt far better for it, as he had last night, but he shook again now as he washed himself off.

This was worse than last night.

This was real.

He would never in his right mind have let something like that happen, which only proved one thing; he, albeit briefly, hadn't been in his right mind. He had been in a completely wrong one. The revelation frightened him perhaps more than anything else.

That something had been controlling him.

He pushed his sweaty fringe from his eyes and wet his face with water from the tap. The taste in his mouth was sour, and not just from throwing up. His pale face suddenly burning, he remembered where Slade had touched him; grateful, if nothing else, that he had not become hard by it.

He didn't think he could live with himself if he had. He touched his throat where Slade had bitten him; it still hurt.

"What did you think you were doing?" He asked softly as he heard Slade get to his feet.

Slade didn't answer him. What answer was there to give? If Slade had felt as he had, then he hadn't thought about anything. It had just… happened.

And what about himself? He hadn't resisted. He had started to, but it had just faded into some sick desire. Did he truly believe that his mind had been possessed by something? Or had the desire been real, and he didn't want to believe in the possibility that he might be…

But the desire was dead now. He had never felt it before, and now it made him feel sick to the point of fainting. He couldn't be… and somehow he doubted that Slade was either.

He heard Slade approaching him and whipped around angrily.

"Don't you dare come near me!" He spat, his voice full of hatred. Slade stopped.

"I have no desire to touch you, Robin," he said eventually. Robin glared furiously at him for a second or two, then abruptly turned on his heel and walked away, making off in the direction of his discarded belt.

"I'm leaving," he informed Slade icily. "I'll see you in Jump, when you have some scheme that needs foiling."

He snatched up his belt from the floor, slung it over his shoulder and started to leave.

"You're not going anywhere!" Slade said sharply. Robin didn't even look at him.

"Watch me," he replied coldly.

Slade snapped his fingers and a sudden mechanical grinding from the shadows told Robin that he and Slade weren't alone. He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart pounding and his fists clenched; his belt still dangled from his left hand.

"Get him," Slade ordered quietly.

From the shadows burst a round dozen of Slade's mercenaries, his familiar black-and-amber robot commandos. In an instant Robin's belt was back around his waist and he was pulling his staff from it. The first of the robots reached him and he parried its blows with his staff, sending a whip-kick in its direction as it momentarily paused and knocking it away from him. Another was upon him as he drew his breath and he spun into a powerful roundhouse, sending it flying in the same fashion as the first, then took out a third with a high dragonfly kick to its head. But as he landed he felt a cracking pain in his hand as a fourth robot kicked his staff out of his possession. He spun into a low sweep, knocking it to the floor, then uppercut a fifth as he straightened up. But by this point the first three were back up, and the other seven had also reached him and he couldn't fight them all off. He was thrown to the hard floor by one, then kicked back by another as he tried to get up. He tried to struggle to his feet again and they all dived on him as though they were playing a game of American football and he was the unfortunate quarterback in possession of the ball.

"Enough."

Slade's voice was crisp and demanding. The robots all stopped moving but Robin continued to struggle in their grip, not getting very far at all.

"What are you doing!" Robin demanded, still trying to free himself from his makeshift prison of robot commandos. "Let me go!"

Slade didn't answer him, but instead spoke to his mercenaries;

"Strip him and hold him down."

Robin's breath caught in his throat and his masked eyes widened in horror and disbelief.

"Wh… what? Strip me and… wait… wait a second…"

It was in that instant that he realised what Slade was going to do to him. And unlike the kissing and everything else that had gone with it, he didn't intend to let it happen.

He started to fight even more desperately against Slade's minions but he was no match for all twelve of them. He could feel them all grabbing hold of his arms and legs, stopping him from retaliating. They were robots, they were strong, and eight of them held him still while the other four worked on Slade's first command. They weren't undressing him; they were literally ripping his clothes from his body, tearing them beyond repair and throwing them aside as ragged scraps of bright material. His cape went first, followed by his shirt and gloves and belt, and then they slammed him to the floor on his back where he banged his head a third time in the same place. Pain and blackness echoed through his skull and he found himself wishing that he would pass out. But he didn't. His vision came into focus again and his senses became aware enough for him to realise that he was in really serious trouble. He had two of them on each side pinning each of his arms to the cold floor while the other eight were clustered around his lower half relieving him of his boots, followed by his skin-tight green pants and lastly his boxers. They pinned his bare legs down too so that he had no hope of struggling free, even though he tried with all of his strength, all the while cursing himself for coming here, and for not bringing the Titans. For cutting off all means of communication, all means of being found. For everything. This was his own fault but the knowledge of it didn't help his situation in the slightest; he was still naked and defenceless in the middle of a dark abandoned asylum at midnight, possibly the worst scenario he had ever found himself in.

He could hear Slade approaching and felt one of the robots reach up to his eyes to remove his mask.

"No," Slade said quietly. "Leave him his identity."

The commando left off and moved away. Robin tried to sit up but couldn't even get his shoulders off the floor, so strongly were Slade's minions holding him down.

"You can't do this," he said desperately. "Slade, you can't…"

"Be quiet," Slade ordered coldly. He too was naked apart from his mask, which he seemed to be hiding behind.

"You said you had no desire to touch me!" Robin pressed desperately. In the dark it made little difference but he hated Slade seeing him so vulnerable.

"I haven't," Slade answered.

Robin blinked.

"Then why-"

"I don't want to do this," Slade told him, and he really did sound as though he hated the idea of it. "But I have to. You don't understand, Robin, and you won't have to. You're going to die."

"What are you talking about!" Robin asked, desperation and anger and fear and hatred all evident in his voice. "You don't have to do this. You can't-"

"I told you to be quiet." Slade sounded furious, with both Robin and himself. Then he seemed to relent a little as he knelt down next to the restricted Teen Titan.

"I'll… try not to hurt you too much," he said, as though his offer would make it all better. Robin struggled harder against the commandos holding him down, the dark making the situation seem worse and more frightening as he felt Slade coming closer and closer to him.

The robots suddenly seemed to release him, and he shot up to his knees, ready to bolt. Instead they grabbed his arms cruelly, held him there as he struggled against them. They were locked across his shoulders, too heavy to push off, far too strong to break from. One grasped his hair and forced his head up.

Making him look directly at Slade.

"Please, Slade…" Robin whispered pleadingly. "Please… Don't do this, please…"

Slade leaned into him, receiving a stifled, terrified squeak in response from the boy.

"I have to," he replied coldly. "I can't expect you to understand…"

He prised the commando's hand from Robin's hair and the boy hung his head, shaking with fright. Putting one finger under his chin, Slade tipped Robin's head back up again.

"And Robin, I know this means nothing," Slade whispered, his masked face only centimetres from the Boy Wonder's, "-but… I'm sorry."

And with those final words he destroyed everything, tore from the boy held beneath him every last scrap of purity and dignity and cast them into some flaming hell born of sexual sin.

Killed his soul and his mind and devastated his world.

Revealed the terrible truth of what lay behind the mask.

Wrought unholy defilation upon Batman's child.

And behind his own mask, Batman's child cried out.

Haha! Action, suspense, angst… um, horror, possibly, at least from Wonder Boy's point of view. And some RobinSlade slash! (Which is, I'm afraid, the only RobinSlade slash involved within my entire trilogy). And why did it happen, I hear you ask? Well, ok, maybe you aren't asking. Maybe right now you are phoning for the men in white coats. Either way, all shall be explained. Not in the next chapter; not even in the first part of my trilogy. But it will be explained. If you can hang on that long, that is…

So… Like? Didn't like? Tell me what you think. I am especially interested to know what you all thought of this chapter (although Yami no Kaiba bizarrely liked Ultimately…).

Some Teen-y Titan-y action coming up next (the second time they have been in it at all; yay!), but I might put up two chapters, the second of which will take us back to Robin and Slade's… oh, how wrong it would be of me to say "love-nest"…

Catch you on the flip-side, dudemeisters!

(The Simpsons – couldn't resist… -)

AND I HAVE ADDED ANOTHER CHAPTER TO SMALL PRINT! (Just in case you didn't know…)