Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans. At least, the copyright things say I don't.
Author's Note: It's been a long time. Sorry I kept everybody waiting. I've been very preoccupied with school and other projects, and I've been very lazy when not working on those.
Unfortunately, I've been having terrible writer's block recently, especially when it comes to the Titans. I've had plenty of ideas, but I can't seem to word them properly. On top of that, I didn't like how this fic was fitting together, then I wasn't pleased with my sacrifices, then I couldn't figure out how to make this and that work, and it's all been a bloody mess. I'll try to work it all out, but don't expect another update for some time…
Ch. 2: You're What?
An enticing aroma permeated the kitchen area of Titans Tower, drifting gracefully into the nostrils of the resident half-robot, who sighed longingly; glancing at him, with his single organic eye rolled up, gazing dazedly beyond the laser-proof windows that stretched from ceiling to floor, out beyond the expansive city, which was now very much alive with the mingled sounds blaring horns and hard-soled dress shoes slapping against the steaming concrete, even further, beyond the cloudless azure sky, beyond the flaming golden sun, beyond the distant, invisible stars, beyond even the edges of this galaxy, one would think that he was lounging beneath a towering tree of Eden itself, snoozing as the rays of divine light gently tickled what skin remained on his face, surrounded by the sound of the light breeze drifting over the freshly trimmed, dew glistening grass, the chirps and chatter of the of the woodland creatures as they scampered about, unafraid of the massive form that now lounged in their midst, and the flow of a crystalline stream that tiptoed across smoothened pebbles that glittered in the sun.
"Dude," Beast Boy whined, a shrill prepubescent noise that shattered Cyborg's tranquility, as well as his abruptly clenched teeth, "I can't believe you eat that stuff! You're a murderer. That's all you are. A ruthless killer."
"Oh, I am not," Cyborg groaned, turning his attention back to the bacon and eggs that were gradually shriveling in the smoking pan. "They were long gone when I got them."
"They could have been baby chickens!" Beast Boy cried, a single tear trickling down his green-tinged cheek, grieving for the innocent, unborn infants who would never experience the joys of life. "You cut them down in their prime!"
Cyborg spun around abruptly, clomping toward the circular kitchen table upon his massive metal feet; had he not cut the tile out of durable zantathyum metal, a creation of his father's, the footfalls certainly would have left a lasting impression in his wake. "One: I did not cut them down in their prime. They weren't even born yet, genius! They didn't have any time to reach their prime. Two: the eggs they sell in grocery stores aren't even fertilized. They wouldn't have hatched." Cyborg relaxed his legs, letting them melt to heated lead as he collapsed into the chair (also specially crafted). He skimmed the sports section of the "Jump City Post" with his gleaming electronic eye. "You really should chill out, Salad Head."
Beast Boy's pointed elfin ears twitched, and his dark green eyes thinned, as if a sudden unbearable brightness had flooded the room. His slight muscles tensed beneath his jumpsuit and his single protruding fang dug into his thin upper lip.
The war had begun.
"Is that so, Toaster Brain?" he asked, a smug, crooked grin splitting his childish features.
"That the beast you got, Grass Stain?" Cy shot back almost immediately, his eyes cemented to the newspaper (by now, he was scanning the comic strips, randomly snorting to himself beneath his breath).
Beast Boy winced. Cyborg was no slouch; he spouted out insults more rapidly than the mayor spat out lies at the ravenous public (more competent police force my foot!), so one had to use caution when challenging him. "Not even close, Captain Aluminum! I will fight for the freedom of oppressed unborn chickens everywhere- nonviolently, of course."
"Man, we should call you Beatle Boy, 'cause you are a hippie to the max!" Cyborg exclaimed; by now, he had forsaken the business section ("borin' garbage" he called it), instead thumbing through the entertainment section, once more chuckling lightly, this time at both the critics' half-star reviews of the latest box office hits and the hilariously feeble advertisements for films that would soon settle into theaters for a week before packing their bags and flying briskly to grocery store shelves, where they would remain for the duration of their existence on Earth.
Perspiration began to dot the changeling's forehead, starting its trek from the untamed patch of hair that topped his scalp, snaking down his lime-green cheek, past his pursed, trembling lips, the single fang still jutting prominently, and finally striking the floor with a small "plop". Cyborg was inhumanly fast, and the jocular Beast Boy, for a moment at least, honestly speculated that Cyborg might be using that supercomputer brain of his to Google his comebacks between rounds. "Well, we should call you… uh… Charlton Heston! Yeah! You're, like, pro-death."
"Whatever, Tofu Breath," Cyborg sighed; his voice no longer carried a sliver emphasis, a scant hint of energy or excitement, as if he had grown weary of the one-sided battle, or perhaps because he thought he was already victorious, and it was no longer worth the miniscule effort.
"Dude, come on! Look, this is you."
A massive television screen suddenly materialized just behind Beast Boy, who produced from the pocket of his jumpsuit (presumably, for whether it has pockets is debatable) a giant remote control with a single red button. As he violently jammed it down, the forest scene was displayed, a generally faithful representation of Cyborg's daydream. Rabbits, squirrels, and various brightly colored birds, radiant fur and feathers glistening in the caressing rays of sunlight, tentatively began to emerge from the cool shade of the lightly swaying tree branches, their solid black eyes darting nervously about the dew coated landscape; it was as though a winter chill had suddenly settled in, freezing their trembling limbs to the ground.
Suddenly, a tremor shot through the ground, sending a jolt up each woodland creature's spine. Another followed, then another, and another. The steady "BOOM-BOOM, BOOM-BOOM" gradually grew more frequent, slowly became less faint, less distant. The furries desperately tried to scurry away, the birds gave shrill tweets of terror as they fluttered their wings in a frenzy, but to no avail. The ferocious Cyborg's cackle permeated the tranquility of the lush garden, twisting and deforming it into a dark nightmarish realm of doom, pain, and suffering beyond imagination. A demonic glow burned deep within both eyes as he unsheathed his fork…
"Man, you have one twisted imagination, small fry," Cyborg chuckled as he arose, casually tossing the crumpled sphere of newspaper into the nearby trashcan, gradually making his way toward the stove to remove his bacon and eggs, which were now shrunken and charred beyond any twinkling of recognition.
"Blender brain," Beast Boy blurted, collapsing into a chair opposite Robin as he sipped cool, nerve-soothing soy milk from his green plastic cup.
"Will you two shut up," Robin shot suddenly, obviously annoyed by his teammates' third grade bickering, the childish banter that he'd abandoned on the schoolyard long ago. He ground his unbrushed teeth as his gloved fingers rapidly drummed a beat upon the table, a tense, impatient, anxious beat that drilled into his mind. His eyes narrowed beneath his pretzel stick-thin mask. "Honestly, I'm beginning to suspect recruiting you two was a disaster waiting to happen."
"The only disaster here is your hair, Gel Head," Cyborg snorted as he crunched on a sliver of blackened pig's stomach.
Two seconds later, Robin's ebon spikes bowed, brushing against his shoulders as soy milk cascaded down, dragging his extra strength hair gel with it, gluing his uniform to his flesh.
Beast Boy sheepishly wiped the remaining trickles of the liquid from his lips, struggling to contain the hysterical fits of laughter that threatened to explode forth. "Sorry," he coughed.
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DOON!
Flaming arms arched across the scalding gravel, scorching the bare, blood red heavens.
DOON!
Cries of agony, cries that whispered tales of torture, of pain and suffering beyond comprehension, rang out, following the columns of fire as the leaped into the distance.
DOON!
"Rrrrrrrraaaaaaveeeeeen…"
DOON! DOON! DOON!
Cloven hooves buried themselves within the boiling earth, reveling as each nerve was impaled by the searing spears of demon fire.
"Raaaven. I am coming. The time draws near, girl. Your glorious destiny awaits you."
"No…"
"Look at it. Drink deeply of it. It is the world you created the moment you came to be."
"No!"
"You shall fulfill your destiny, my precious gem. The prophecy shall come to pass. So it is written. So it must be!"
"No!"
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"Friend Raven?" Starfire called as she once more softly brushed the towering mechanical doors with her knuckles; though she tried to submerge her alien strength, lest she batter the door to atoms, the clangs of her dainty fist against the solid metal echoed in each corner of the dim, stretching hallway like two freight trains melding into one smoldering heap of twisted steel. "Friend Raven, it is I, Starfire, here to greet you on this wondrous morning!"
The grin that split Star's face in two gradually faded as she stood in silence, save for the persistent drone of the synthetic air that spewed forth from the Tower's ventilation, chilling the dim hall.
She rapped upon the door again, a bit louder this time; the explosions now sounded more like a post-apocalyptic battleground. With each unsuccessful attempt, she tried again, her pounding becoming progressively louder and more desperate: a hydrogen bomb, an atomic bomb, a supernova; every ear-splitting sound imaginable bounded through the hallway, bouncing off of every flat surface.
Finally, inevitably, the door gave way, issuing an eerie creak as it teetered for a moment, then collapsed onto the violet carpet with a muffled thud; the darkness in the room flooded out into the hallway. A starbolt ignited in the bronze alien's dainty hands, bathing the tiny abode in an emerald glow that chased away the gloom, scattering it to the farthest corners.
In the center of the chamber, the figure of her friend lay motionless, stirring only as her chest rose with her labored, rhythmic breathing, a light snore. She had been there since, lightheaded and utterly exhausted, she had collapsed on the way down to the briefing.
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"Sick?" Robin asked incredulously, cringing as though the word left a bitter taste in his mouth; Raven, in all the time she had been living in the Tower, had never been… "sick."
"She seemed most fatigued," Starfire said, her sparkling, emerald eyes also conveying her confusion and concern. "She insisted that she was fine, but I sensed otherwise. I insisted she go back to bed immediately… but she was already asleep again by the time I said it."
"Great," Beast Boy sighed, rolling his own emerald eyes as he swung his dangling legs, his sneakers striking the cabinets beneath the counter upon which he was perched. "If Raven was 'Little Miss Grumpy' before, imagine how she is now that she's sick." His pointed teeth clattered as he imagined her burning crimson eyes, the heat vision melting through his stomach…
"Hey, man, you mind not scratching up my countertop?" Cyborg snarled, and immediately Beast Boy's knees locked, then slowly clicked down like clock hands, one inch at a time; all the while, he grinned sheepishly, blushing.
"Alright, guys, no more banter," Robin commanded, capturing his team's attention with his general's tone. "Obviously, at least one of us has to stay and keep an eye on the city. Since Raven is sick and can't come, that obviously cuts our team down to three. Now, I know I'm going. The question is, which one of you is staying?"
There was a tense moment in which none of them spoke, eyes (bright green, dark green, and glazed gray/mechanical red) darting from one to another to another and back again. Finally, it was Beast Boy who cleared his voice, causing all eyes to snap to him in unison, and then, in the most mature, effective way he knew, went about choosing who would be staying home…
"Eenie… meenie… minie… moe!"- and the finger of his far-too-big-glove fell upon Cyborg.
"No way!" the robot cried, steam hissing from between his joints, the neon blue light emanating from his metallic frame darkening, taking on a deep crimson hue. "He fixed that! I want a rematch! Besides, I should go; I'm the one who saved all y'all from that psycho jerk copycat last time! How 'bout I play shove my foot up…"
"Cyborg!" Robin cried, rusting the tinman in mid-sentence, his calcium jaw still dangling open, though not a sound escaped, not even the slightest whisper, not even the faintest exhalation. "I know you feel Blood is your enemy and I respect that. However, with your medical expertise, I'd feel better if you were the one to keep an eye on Raven, should, God forbid, a medical emergency should arise. Besides, I trust you to protect this city more than I trust anybody else here. You proved yourself more than capable when fighting Brother Blood."
Cyborg let out a sigh, his hydraulics whirring as his artificial spine curved, his shoulders drooping, arms dangling, his metal knuckles brushing the metal tiles. Then, with a grin, he muttered, "You just want to drive the T-Car, don't you?"
Robin smirked back, retorting, "You know it, Muffler Butt."
"Muffler Butt!" cried Beast Boy, tossing his lanky arms into the air as if to address the god of tofu himself. "Why can't I think of stuff like that?"
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"Yes, Titans, yes. Become intertwined in the web I weave, the web he weaves. Be the foolish heroes that you are. Leave yourselves totally exposed."
"... this… ing o... lo? Hello?"
"I can hear you."
"We're in position. Whenever you're ready, chief."
"Good. Just give it a bit more time. I'll contact you when I see fit."
"All right. Over and out."
…
"I love it when a plan comes together. A truly masterful tactician knows when to sacrifice in order to draw away the defenses, knows how to deceive the enemy, then, when resistance is at a minimum… strike without mercy."
Author's Note: To those who review, thanks for sticking with me. I'll try to untangle this mess and set things straight. Thank you.
Next Time: Raven feels a bit better, but Cyborg won't let her lift a finger. Can he handle the criminals by himself? And will Raven be able to handle it when a haunting figure from her pat comes knocking at the Tower door? Who are these mysterious enemies, and what is their ultimate goal? Find out next time!