Puppets

Victor Van Heiring

Darn…sorry about this but I realized a little too late that I called Alexnandru Van Gordon by his real name in my A/N at the end of the last chapter. Yeah…his name is Robin…but don't go spreading that around because now he has Slade Wilson – Deathstroke coming after him like I-don't-know-what every hour he finds convenient…It's really funny sometimes but so long as he doesn't know about it, he won't be angry with me (besides the point that I'm too lazy to go back and fix the mistake…who cares?)

Carry on, peoples…

DISCLAIMER: Same old, same old—you'll here the song you heard from me last chapter….so, shoo, birds!

CHAPTER EIGHT: Evil, nothing less

"You look…bored."

He wasn't bored. There was nothing worse than getting caught off guard without knowing what the hell he was supposed to be doing. Not too long ago he found out Slade was going to obliterate the city, wasn't he? Of course he was—and there was Robin, stuck in the dark until the very last minute with next to no time left to devise a counterattack. Sure, he probably had an idea of where Slade could be hiding his weapon, but it was no use knowing where something was if you couldn't do a thing to stop it. He had no clue what type of bomb it was, how many there were (if there were more than one), how to disarm it, and how to keep Slade busy long enough not to set it off.

Robin was taking blind stabs in the dark. It wasn't that he hated the dark, but when you had a city full of innocent people on the line…well, you get the drift. He felt like such a failure.

Raven leaned against the back of the couch and caught the small bean bag he was tossing before it headed back down toward him. Lying on his back, he continued to stare at the ceiling.

"I'm just thinking."

She examined the ball. "No, you're fusing. You usually lose yourself in physical activities when you're bored." Handing the ball back to him, she turned away. "You're worried because that girl got out of the asylum yesterday with the help of Slade. You're upset because the AF knows more than you do. You're frustrated because you think you're the only one here to save the city."

His face reddened at her words. Not in embarrassment or anger, but from self-disappointment. She was right. He was acting like such a child.

"Raven—"

"Relax." She gazed at him over her shoulder and allowed herself to grin for the briefest moment. "You're anything but alone in this. Whatever Slade is up to, we'll stop him together."

It was nice to hear someone else say that every once in a while. Sure, Starfire said it on a regular basis, but it felt more assuring when someone different took the job upon themselves to go out of character just to say it for his sake.

"Maybe you should get out, go on a short patrol for any of the small stuff."

Not a bad idea. Perhaps he could let little of his pent up anger out on the poor unfortunate who sought to commit a crime tonight.

Raven, seeming to read his thoughts, chuckled herself and headed for the hallway. "Don't kill anyone. Remember, the AF might be watching."

-D-

It was a trap. It had to be. There was no possible way Slade would have let anything like this slip through his fingers. If he was indeed the one who ordered Mary's little search and rescue mission, then why would be so careless as to let her roam around freely?

"Someone called the police and said they saw her fighting three men on 131st and 47th. Then she fled toward the abandoned mall."

Dane began rubbing his right temple. Of course the police wouldn't actually go after her. They read her records and concluded that the AF should be the only ones to risk their necks on catching her. The only thing anyone knew was that she headed toward the mall when she saw that she was spotted. They were scanning around the area for clues as to where she might be, but Dane and a few of his men were assigned to checking out the old building. Knowing Miss Jacob and her record for analyzing and testing the human mind, she'd have a few tricks up her sleeve for whoever found her. She had a fetish for such things…

Eyeing Michael, another close friend of his, Dane reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his gun. "Go home and get some rest, Mike. I'll grab a couple of men and check out the mall on my own."

"But—"

"If you're bored, then you can finish filing the papers on Mark."

Shutting his mouth in an instant, Mike got the idea. Sighing to himself quietly, Mike turned on his heel and headed out.

This time, he was going to shoot Slade.

If Mark was dead or missing a single limb, he didn't know how well he could restrain himself from shooting Slade's other eye. He knew it was near enough to impossible to kill the man, but blinding Slade might satisfy him long enough to think clearly again.

-R-

"131st and 47th. We got a call saying some kid was beaten by a thug and then dragged into the mall."

Poor kid…

Tearing down the streets at break neck speed on the back of his motorcycle, Robin made his way down to the abandoned mall on 47th avenue. The place should have been demolished long ago, but that side of town wasn't…'well-kept'. Nobody cared what happened there so long as the thugs and the petty thieves quarreled only among themselves, and besides—none of them really reported any trouble to the police or the Titans. It was rare for anyone to get called down then, especially in the middle of the night.

It reminded him of the Narrows…and a lot of other things for that matter.

"I'm already there." He answered into his communicator.

"Have fun." Cyborg chuckled on the other end. "Don't kill anyone, man."

"It's a single thug." Robin muttered, jumping off his bike as he pulled it to a halt near the front entrance. "Why would I kill him? I'd rather see him behind bars."

"Hey, we don't know why he dragged the boy off."

Bad thoughts came to mind. "Ummm…I promise not to kill anyone. Now get back to work. I'm sure something else is going to come up tonight."

"Psychic now, are you?"

"No, but villains seem to follow a routine. The goofy ones attack at day, practically screaming for attention, and the ones we need to worry about seem addicted to the night life."

"Gotcha. Cyborg, over-and-out." Then the line was cut, leaving Robin with the minor stress-relieving session between him and the unlucky thug.

The mall—clichéd as ever—was dark, gloomy and quiet. The sun lights above, built into the visible ceiling hanging over the second level, were broken or cracked. Puddles of water from rain long since past gathered here and there on the old white tiled floor, and the walls, somehow still standing, were covered from top to bottom with crude pictures and colourful graffiti. Both of the elevators were still in tact but he doubted either was working. He was surprised neither was torn down by the jerks who usually camped out there at night.

Much to his surprise, one of the elevators started up. There was the jerking clank of old gears picking up speed before the rotating link of stairs lurched into motion upward to the second level. Startled, his hand slipped the bo-staff from his belt long before he realized what he was doing.

Reflex.

"Wrong one…" Someone muttered in disappoint from behind him. Spinning to face his opponent, he hesitated when he saw Mary standing next to a control panel, one hand on a lever and the fingers of her free hand tapping the chin of her porcelain mask. "Well then, lovely, I'm glad you came alone to play with me. Let me shine a little light on the name of the game."

Pulling the lever suddenly, he found himself blinded by the intensity of the still working emergency lights. Unable to even blink, he took a step back and covered his eyes with his left hand. Slade—or someone else—fiddled with the lights. There was no way they should have been that bright.

Then there was darkness—pitch black and as thick as tar. His heart skipped a beat before he was thrown backward, Mary's foot connecting dead center with his chest. By the feeling of stairs beneath his back and the sense of moving upward, he could tell he landed on the working elevator. He could hear Mary off to the left, walking up the second.

"Not afraid, are we?" She asked sincerely. He half expected her to taunt him—and although he knew she did make puns every then and again—but she was more serious than anything at all. It was as though she really wanted an honest answer from him. "Heart pounding, breath racing—body stiff and slightly shaking? Hopefully not from the kick…"

He cursed inwardly at her words. For reasons unknown, he was indeed somewhat nervous.

His intuition was attacking his gut again, twisting it until he felt like vomiting. It was telling him to leave, but not because of Mary. Something else was wrong.

"It's the dark then?" She insisted as he stood on his feet and almost fell when he came to the second floor. He wasn't blind anymore, but the dancing lights weren't making matters easier. "They say we fear what we cannot see—fear what we don't understand. Perhaps only half of that is true…but, then again, if you were to look close enough at your situation, one would say your life was riddled with irony."

"How so?" He asked. He knew she wouldn't stop herself from attacking just because he couldn't see, but perhaps if he kept her talking she'd be too busy thinking to do much action.

"You're also very hypocritical...very power hungry"

"Care to explain?"

His vision finally cleared and he could see her walking away further into the mall before stopping and turning halfway to face him. "How can you label one thing good and another thing evil? Does it all have to do with what the majority wants? I thought this country believed in democracy—that the law is made by the people for the people. If forty-nine percent believes that one thing is good, while the rest believe its evil—does that make it entirely evil, or…or what? How do you define something that's evil?"

For some reason 'pain' was the first thing that came to mind. Those who are evil either thrive for the pain of others or strive for what they want despite the pain it causes others.

"For one thing, they hurt without concern. They live for the pain of the others—they gain through the use of innocent people."

She shook her head slowly. "One man will not hurt another unless he himself has first been hurt. Pain comes in many ways—envy, abuse, disloyalty, lying—to list the causes is a dead man's job." Then she reached across her waist, grabbing hold of something before throwing the very same arm forward. Much to Robin's great surprise, a long black whip tore through the air toward him and latched onto his bo-staff when he raised it in defense. "But perhaps you need more time to think your answers over—yes?"

Memories of Catwoman and her merciless cat-o-nine-tails whip came to mind and the phantom pains that came from fighting her began to sting again. Hopefully Mary wasn't an expert.

Mary tugged but Robin only released on side of his bo-staff. The whip slid off and she pulled it back slowly into her hand as they began to circle. He knew how to handle such a weapon, but the cost of disarming her would leave him with black and blue bruises for days and weeks to come.

"You think it's unfair?" She tilted her masked face to one side. "Should I discard my whip?"

"It would be nice gesture." He thought allowed, being sarcastic. Much to his surprise, she did.

The way they were circling ended with her standing by the railing between the two elevators. Obliging to his suggestion, she released the end of her whip.

He watched as it began to fall—

—before nimble fingers clasped the end of the whip and pulled it back into a full arch as it surged forward, the lethal tip ricocheting off his bo-staff as he twirled it. He knew she would try something like that, but still…it would have been nice if she missed.

Circling her arm to recall the length, she aimed and took another shot.

He dodged aside and watched as the tip connected with the fairly old tiles. It cracked the glass and set shatters flying everywhere as she recoiled yet again and moved away from the elevators to get a better shot. As she threw her arm back for a third attack, one hand still on his staff, Robin reached to his belt and fit three small explosive between his fingers. This time she had to re-correct herself mid-way into the shot to snap away one of the explosives. The other two landed a meter away from each side of her, causing Mary to back step and raise an arm to protect her head from the shattered tiles. One cut her forearm, slashing away at the thick black fabric of her suit and drawing blood.

"First blood shot." She said, staring at her arms. She sounded proud. "Congratulations."

He shook his head. "I don't want to fight you."

"Likewise, lovely, but we're on opposing sides." Mary twirled her whip again, cracking it forward quickly and catching him on the left shoulder. It grazed him by cut deep enough to draw his own blood. "Until you agree…"

Robin twirled his bo-staff and stepped a little closer. "Agree to what?"

Mary didn't answer right away. Instead, she used her whip again and nearly caught him in the face before he deflected the blow. Usually he'd speed up the action, but a whip made matters a little more difficult…

So she tossed it aside.

Taking him by surprise, she reached behind her back and took hold of her blade. Moving just in time, she threw it forward and their weapons collided, causing both of them to put their full weight into forcing the other back. Transforming the hit-and-whip game into a pushing match, Mary was able to lean in close to his ear.

Whispering, she said something that chilled him to the bone. "Your old master might have been cold and cruel…but he's forgiving. He wants you back, you know…"

Growling in anger, he shoved her back with more force than he intended and, not realizing how close they were to the railing, watching in horror as she fell. The old railing broke with ease as she backed into it and there was nothing to stop her as she began her quick descent to the first floor. All he heard was a solid 'thud' and the 'oomph' of someone being heavily winded.

'Please don't be dead—pleasedon'tbedeadpleasedon'tbedeadpleasedon'tbedead—'

Running over to the broken railing, he leaned forward slightly and stared down at Mary. Lying on her side, knees and arms bent, long braided hair flung everywhere and in her face, he could have sworn he had killed her…

Then she coughed.

Pushing herself up with her arms, she moved to sit on her left hip as she flung her hair away from her face and took hold of something protruding from her side. Pulling hard, she tugged a shattered piece of tile from her waist and tossed it aside, standing slowly and brushing herself off.

She was a little wobbly, but with the crack of her back and neck, she turned around and stared right back up at him.

"Tell me again what evil is?"

-V-

Contest Info: I forgot to mention this—later on I am going to be hosting a contest. Now, as you already know, I'm not a fan of OC's—most of them turn out to be big fat Mary's Sues (if you don't know what those are, just ask and I'll tell)—but that doesn't mean every OC is a bad one. If you have a story which contains an OC, please tell us (yes, there is more than one judge) your penname and story title and we will analyzing and grade your OC to see which is the best of all Teen Titan stories. If you want to enter but don't have an OC, then make up a one-shot (or…two-shot) about a character of your own design and write them into a small plot concerning the Titans. More details, such as when the contest starts and ends, will be figured later….but I have to warn you…Alex is a judge and he hates OC's more than I do (and if you ever read one of his stories, you'll see that he usually kills them off—but not before degrading them in every possible way). In contradiction to that, anyone who wants to know what we're looking for should contact Alex (Full penname is Alexnandru Van Gordon) or myself, via e-mail, and Alex will tell you how to write a character that he could possibly like (he has all these books in his room about character design and he took a course on it, so don't be fooled by his hatred).

Besides that…Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. My two week vacation started on Saturday, so I still have days and days to go for relaxation and writing. I hope you have a great time—and good luck with school. I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting my mid-terms soon…

Signing out,

Victor Van Heiring