A/N: This story will begin slowly... very slowly, at first. To be honest, the Titans won't even be mentioned until chapter 6. So if you don't like slow fictions, just go.
Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans, the Justice Leauge, exc... so why are you asking? Even if they aren't in the story yet...
Sending
"H…hey! What're you doing? I'm one of your best, and you're SENDING ME TO A SAFEHOUSE?"
The man in charge scowled at the teen. "I don't care if you are our best; you're not ready for this." He sighed, and continued, "None of us are. We can't risk having someone cut and run."
The grey-eyed teenager, dressed up in almost mockingly casual clothes, glared at his commander, damning regulations to the Abyss. He didn't look like the regular military summoner in any way either (his casual clothes, and deeply tanned complexion revealed that he saw the sun regularly) "Well then, you don't have to worry. I don't care if I die, so long as I take as many of 'em with me as I can!"
"Sorry… I can't let you." The commander motioned, and then a previously unnoticed woman swung with a blunt object, hitting the outraged teen on the head, knocking him out. He slumped, and collapsed on the floor. The commander looked down at him for a moment, then sighed. "Get him to the furthest location you can find."
The woman saluted, but hesitated, asking, "Sir, isn't he our best?"
The man sighed. "Yes. And he should know that no matter what, no matter how many Final Summonings we use, we'll loose. They have us outnumbered, and we don't have the strength now to repel them."
The woman nodded grimly. "Sir… with your permission, I'll send him to a middle location."
The commander sighed gustily. "And where do you think in the middle locations do you think he'll be safe?"
"Earth, sir."
The commander paused, and then nodded. "You can't use a pod to get there, if I remember, they've got a large hero group watching for invasions. You'll have to have him Sent there. If we can get him through, he should be able to live there indefinitely… well, for as long as his lifespan should be. Never heard of a Rationalist going there, it's beneath their dignity… do it. It'll be easier to retrieve him, anyway, if we somehow win."
The woman saluted, and started to drag the teen's slumped form away.
On the shirt, over his heart, was a symbol. Rather than being a symbol of the fact that he was the most skilled in his profession, it was simply an outline of a gem, with a 'crack line' running through it.