Greetings, again. Allow me to apologize for how late this update came. I've been out of town for a week and a half, and my flight back was delayed due to a gas leak at the local airport's FAA tower. I hope to be more punctual in the future.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Teen Titans or other affiliated materials.

It was a very annoying telephone, to be honest. It had all the qualities of a very annoying telephone. For one, it was a landline, which in itself reserved the phone a place amongst objects of ill-repute. Because being hooked to one place is a curiosity of a restrictive, obsolete past, one that nobody was in any particular rush to return to. And also because getting up to answer the phone is too much of a hassle. Furthermore, the thing utilized sticky buttons that stubbornly refused to recognize your input when you pressed down upon them. You could drop a boulder on the thing and you still wouldn't get a number to register. Most damning of all was the ringtone, which was very reminiscent of a generic stock sound effect that mimicked the hackneyed blare of an office phone from the 90's. The kind that you could download off the internet for free.

The contempt of everyone present was manifold when the blasted thing had the audacity to start clamoring about like a tone-deaf tenor practicing his staccato. It was too early for such nonsense. Dawn's light had only just begun to creep through the closed shades of the cluttered office as a petite foreign-looking man, Richards presumably, "sipped" away at his coffee with all the subtlety of a high-powered vacuum cleaner. Slurp! He was underdressed for the office setting, being clothed in khakis and a Hawaiian print t-shirt. His dark hair was slicked upwards to provide the look of a stereotypical business executive. In sharp contrast to this, he also sported a horseshoe mustache that she imagined was supposed to make him appear more masculine. It didn't help. Richards picked up the phone and opened with a jittery voice.

"Hello. Richards here."

On the other end of the line was another man—Sullerman, if she had to guess—who, as if by coincidence, was likewise petite and foreign-looking, and likewise sported a horseshoe mustache. However, this man's likewise dark hair sat unkempt upon his forehead, and his attire consisted of ketchup-stained overalls and a Godzilla t-shirt dotted with bread crumbs and sesame seeds. His voice was gruff, but in a forced manner. If she was honest with herself, everything about this seemed forced.

"Hello, Mr. Richards. I am calling to notify one important thing. That is to say, the motive behind this call is to alert you of a matter of which I deem significant to you."

Richards leaned back in his seat and thoughtfully nodded and tilted his head, as if contemplating on this proposition at its innermost. He took several more sips of his coffee, spinning the mug about in his hand as he inspected its contents, as if some deeper meaning could be acquired from the churned liquid. Finally, he replied.

"You seem quite interesting, share your thoughts."

Sullerman allowed himself a nasally laugh, before forcing his face back into a solemn statue. The transition was poorly-done.

"Sorry, but I won't give my name and place of residence to you. That is to say, I am consciously refusing to disclose information that you would find vital in tracking my whereabouts following this discussion should you come to discover my dubious intentions. Furthermore, I am not sorry."

"As it is. Tell me more about this important matter." Richards replied, seemingly unfazed by his caller's aside.

Sullerman tapped his foot against the ground as he himself leaned back, his eyes narrowing and a self-satisfied smile creeping across his face.

"I need some money," he started, before hastily transitioning back to sobriety, "Immediately."

"Money? This is not a bank."

"Yes. I am aware fully of my demand. That is to say, it is my conscious intention to make attempt to extort you for capital."

"What is the motive behind this demand?"

"The motive behind this demand is the necessity for money."

This single utterance triggered a cascade of intellectually-offended figures to scour the small, dimly lit room for exits, leaving behind a flurry of popcorn and soft drinks. She did not budge. She would cling to her butter-scented plush seat as long as he did his. The whole thing was on his tab.

"I am not supplying money for necessities."

"So… you are not prepared to give money? That is to say, you are consciously refusing to provide me with the capital of which I am attempting to relieve you?"

"Yes, I'm not."

She could sense his patience wearing thin. Every line of dialogue came across as a slap in the cheek, each time striking harder as the stupidity of the portrayed scenario escalated. As her cat-like pupils scanned his face, she found herself choking back a giggle. He was one of the most laidback guys she knew, though you wouldn't be able to tell right now, with the curmudgeonly expression rooted upon his face.

"Hm, yes. I realize that. It is because you don't have money? That is to say, does your reluctance to provide capital stem from the want of capital to provide—"

She could feel him trembling beside her, his fists clenched, the red elastic covering his fingers growing translucent. He was reaching breaking point.

"That is to say, you do not have the capacity to properly fulfill my demand, in which case you might have otherwise acquiesced it?"

Uh oh.

"Or is it rather—that is to say—"

Kid Flash exploded into a barrage of expletives—some of which would have earned her a caning back at the Academy—as he shelled the theatre screen with bags of popcorn like mortar fire. Jinx maintained a stony disposition for the duration of the episode, spending every ounce of her strength to fight back the urge to laugh. When he finally ran out of ammunition, Kid Flash slumped back into his seat, defeated, running a sore hand through the fiery spikes lining his head as he recomposed himself.

"This is a bad movie." he finally managed.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, champ."

He gave her an apologetic smile.

"I guess now would be a good time to tell you that I'm not as big of a movie buff as I made myself out to be."

She widened her eyes and shook her head in feigned disbelief.

"No… you're telling me that the Kid Flash lied?"

"What can I say?" he chuckled, "You've been a bad influence on me."

"And here you are placing the blame on me. I guess chivalry really is dead." she pouted, pursing her lips.

"C'mon, throw me a bone here! I'm trying to show you a good time."

She tilted her head side to side, taking this tidbit into consideration.

"I guess there's some merit to that. But you did just waste my whole evening on 'Richards v. Sullerman: Quest for Capital'."

"Is there ever a night wasted when we're together?"

Seeing the smirk creeping onto her face he hastily interjected.

"Don't answer that."

He rose from the plush seat, jumping into a bout of leg extensions, his joints creaking and his muscles contracting. He always insisted on stretching after sitting for an extended period of time, in order to "stay loose". All the great runners did it, he asserted. In spite of how eccentric it made the couple look in public, Jinx did not mind it. She always got an enjoyable view or two as he unwittingly showcased himself. Occasionally, when he rotated his neck side to side, he'd catch her admiring gaze and her eyes would abruptly dart away, her cheeks burning hot for being caught in the act. As if ignorant of her prying, he'd keep going, allowing her to peer back and appreciate his body once more. But if she inspected his face closely, she'd find that his lips were now curled upwards into a self-content smile.

After bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, he rested back onto his heels, satisfied with how his limbs felt.

"C'mon, slowpoke. Let's get out of here before Sullerman tries again."

They exited the cramped, dark space, passing by the theatre's only clerk—Kid Flash shot a choleric face at him—and finding themselves in Keystone City's Freight House District. The Freight House District, otherwise known as the Stockyards, was an old storage depot from back in the city's heyday as the hub of the livestock and meatpacking industries along the Transcontinental Railroad. Since then, it had been revitalized as an entertainment district. Derelict warehouses became fully-fledged retail centers and housed several award-winning restaurants, known notably for barbeque. Indeed, the theatre they were just in was supposedly a breakroom for the laborers back in the day. The foreman had apparently installed a projector within the room, allowing workers to watch the up-and-coming silent films in between bouts of heavy lifting. It had been purchased and retrofitted with plush seats to resemble modern cinemas—all while maintaining its historical atmosphere.

Kid Flash offered his hand to her. She did not take it, but instead placed her own hands at her hips in defiance. Certainly he didn't think it would be that easy? Smiling at the challenge, he shrank down to his knees, clasping his hands in a pleading gesture.

"C'mon, Jinx. Forgive me."

No doubt it was an embarrassing sight: Kid Flash groveling at the feet of an ex-villainess. Back in her H.I.V.E. Five days, she'd probably take a snapshot and include it in her resume with the Brotherhood of Evil. He didn't seem to mind any humiliation this would attract, however, persistent in his prostration as if she were royalty. Neither did she yield. No flowers? No box of chocolates in hand? That was a drastic breach of protocol.

"Would a plate of Keystone City's finest wash out the taste of that movie?" he proposed, pointing at one of the nearby barbeque joints.

Cold. While to an outsider this altercation would have appeared to be a girl holding her affection for ransom, it was in actuality a test of resolve—no doubt he realized this too. To what length would he travel to open her up again? How much was holding her hand really worth to him? While the wallowing was appreciated, the fact that the exchange rate of her touch currently sat at a plate of burnt ends did no wonders for her self-esteem. She remained stone-faced, raising a single eyebrow: what else you got?

"Jinx, I love you."

Getting warmer. Another girl might have caved in at this point. Those were indeed the three golden words that every girl wanted to hear—the ones that countless women have tried to pry from the mouths of aloof partners with no avail. The same ones that could make a girl blissfully melt away in the hands of a seasoned sweet talker. But not Jinx. She'd been in enough relationships to know that talk was cheap, the honeycoated variety especially. As such, she didn't let up her disposition: she intended to ride this out for all it was worth.

He studied her stagnant expression for some time with those big blue eyes. Like glistening sapphires, he always joked, telling her that she walked out with something far more valuable than an old necklace that night at the museum. Cheesy bastard.

As if roused by a revelation, he hopped back to his feet with a fresh grin. Her own face, having been vacant of all emotion, gave way to a smirk. She couldn't wait to hear what stupid thing came out of his mouth this time. Imagine her surprise when he wordlessly ran his fingers behind her ear, reaching down to cradle her chin.

Hot. Red hot. Her pale cheeks flushed with pink as those big blue sapphires captivated her own gaze. As he leaned in, her heart began to thump erratically, like a drummer enthralled. She drew her breaths deeper—quicker. His nose nuzzled against hers. She bit back her bottom lip. The anticipation within her fluttered to the brink as she braced for impact. And—

"Am I interrupting something?"

It never came. Rather, he grimaced. She found herself doing the same—there was a rat amongst them. They both turned in the direction of the intrusion. The origin of the voice was a decrepit man in a charcoal grey pinstripe suit standing at the end of the sidewalk. He was scrawny, his arms like twigs and his legs like stilts. His face was cleanly shaven but pallid and gaunt. His eyes, which seemed yellow in juxtaposition to his skin tone, appeared to burst from their sockets, an effect that was exacerbated by his darkened eyelids. What was left of his receding grey hair was slicked back in a stately manner. For all intents and purposes, he was a cadaver in a suit.

"What do you want, Antoine?" Kid Flash spat at him.

The man approached them, his arms outreached in a faux-friendly manner. Jinx examined his bony hands—his fingers were like talons.

"Why so prickly, Slim? I only wanted to check in on my favorite superheroes. Look at you kids, the way you snuggle up against each other like rabbits. Fucking adorable. The press eats that kind of shit up, not to mention the tourists."

Antoine paused, as if scheming.

"Why, we ought to put you two on some postcards. Keystone City's very own power couple."

Kid Flash offered no response.

"Y'see, here I was in the Freight House District. Had a meeting at Dyson's with some of the guys from City Council. You ever tried their brisket? To die for."

He patted his stomach with a crooked-toothed grin.

"Lo and behold I catch you two in the corner of my eye, and I knew I just had to stop by and see what you've have been up to."

His eyes narrowed, the friendly façade dropping.

"After all… that is my job."

He paced away from them, stroking his chin as if an imaginary beard lay there.

"Your biweekly report is coming up soon." he mused.

"You'll get it." Jinx interjected.

"Let the adults speak, dear."

He didn't even turn to look at her, greatly enunciating the condescension in his words. She stared daggers at him, her hands glowing pink, but she relented as she reminded herself of the metal collar enwrapping her ankle: it was hardly a fashion accessory. Kid Flash seethed but likewise did nothing, barring his arms to his side with great effort. It was at this point that she noticed how empty this bustling slice of town was right now. Not a single soul could be observed on these streets. Go figure. Like a skunk, Antoine had a way of driving crowds away.

"Slim?"

He was facing them again, his eyes intently fixated on Kid Flash, scrutinizing him.

"You'll get it." Kid Flash repeated her through gritted teeth.

"Anything I can look forward to?"

"Midas Corp."

"Angelo's boys, huh? How's that going for you?"

"It'd be going better if you actually let us investigate his offices." Jinx snapped.

"You need a warrant to do that, sweetheart," Antoine retorted, shaking his head with disapproval at Kid Flash, "Haven't you taught this con anything about law?"

"We'd have a warrant by now if your boys actually pinched the guys we catch muscling." she hissed back.

Antoine chuckled to himself, reaching into his pocket to pull out a switch with a big red dial on it.

"We really need to get you a muzzle, doll."

He turned the dial with his thumb, triggering a jolt of searing pain from her ankle collar. It did not remain localized, however, but coursed throughout her body, eliciting convulsions wherever it went. Her flesh felt as if it was tearing from her bones, while vital organs seemed set to rupture at any moment. Her legs grew wobbly. Breathing became a concerted effort. It was as if someone was strangling her, with the added caveat that her lungs were punctured; any amount of air she gathered was meagre and insufficient. She grinded her teeth, defiantly refusing to scream—Antoine would not get that satisfaction. But as she glowered up at him, she found that his attention was not directed towards her flickering figure. Rather, he was inspecting Kid Flash with mild amusement, his eyes maliciously goading the speedster to do something.

Kid Flash stood there, fists clenched and body trembling. But again, he did nothing. Satisfied with the obedience, Antoine moved the dial back to its original position. Jinx crashed down to the pavement, gasping for breath. She entered a violent coughing fit, each hack sending a sharp twinge through her chest. Finally, she spat out a thick splotch of blood onto the sidewalk before wiping her mouth. Antoine yawned.

"Forgive me, kids. These old bones can only take so much excitement in one night."

He took a glance at his watch, a Rolex, before flashing a wicked smile at them.

"Don't stay out too late now."

He started to take his leave, sticking the switch back into his pocket.

"Have a pleasant evening, Kid Flash."

He sauntered a few paces away before darting his eyes towards Jinx's crumpled figure.

"Mutt."

Kid Flash bolted at him, knuckles at the ready to knock the bastard's head off. The collision never came, with the fist stopping a few inches short of Antoine's skull, restrained by hesitation. The old man stopped, but did not turn to face them.

"You didn't try to hit me just now, did you Slim?"

Kid Flash released a huff of air, bringing his arm back to his side in resignation.

"Silly question. Course you didn't. Because surely by now, you've realized what would happen to that little minx of yours if you pulled a stunt like that."

With that, Antoine trailed onwards, disappearing around the corner of one of the freight houses. Kid Flash dashed back towards her, sitting her up against the wall of the theatre. He embodied all the behaviors of an overprotective parent, frantically patting her down for broken bones, turning her face side to side for bruises and scars, and anxiously gaping into her mouth and nostrils for anything out of the ordinary. The unease in his eyes were apparent, though not once during this procedure did his line of sight meet hers. Finally, he let out a sigh of relief, plopping himself down at the end of the sidewalk, facing away from her, his head drooped low out of shame. Jinx laid her own head against the wall, wincing at the tenseness of her neck.

The whole ordeal was partially his fault, partially Robin's. When the Brotherhood of Evil collapsed, one month ago, there was a brief honeymoon period for Jinx. No one seemed to remember her affiliation with the Academy and the H.I.V.E. Five. Robin was prepared to offer her honorary admission to the Teen Titans, complete with her own communicator, with everyone's blessing. Even Raven gave a warm smile and a nod of approval—Raven of all people! The federal government was not impressed. To the Central Bureau of Intelligence, her involvement in the downfall of the Brotherhood was not "substantial evidence of rehabilitation". Indeed, they insisted that she be incarcerated for a period ranging anywhere from 10 years to life.

At Kid Flash's behest, Robin organized a parley of sorts, of which he would sit as her representative. She was forced to wait outside the conference room, much to her chagrin. Apparently, she was not to have a hand in determining her own fate. Robin was sweet enough to take her input beforehand as to what was acceptable to her and what was not; he even went as far as to take frequent bathroom breaks throughout the negotiations to inform her of the current terms and how he intended to proceed—no doubt the C.B.I. dignitaries were livid.

When all was said and done, a group of flustered government workers stomped out of the room, with a triumphant Robin in tow. He had taken them to the cleaners: her sentence was reduced to a probation, served in Keystone City under the supervision of Kid Flash and the local marshal for a period of up to five years, or until she terminated a hazard of "notable threat" to the city's denizens. The terms were lax: she was to meet with the marshal once a month, but was otherwise free to do as she wished—no need to notify anyone beforehand.

Giddy as a schoolgirl, she sprang into Robin's shocked arms, eliciting a sour look from Kid Flash. This was a great victory for her. It was a punishment in name only. At worst, she'd have to suffer Kid Flash's keen insistence that she refer to him as mentor. As much as she loathed the idea of giving him that satisfaction, it was certainly preferable to doing time.

Enter Antoine Lepellier, Deputy City Manager of the city of Keystone City. He was a leftover relic from the city's machine politics days under Boss Timothy Pendleton. From her understanding, Antoine was one of his last appointments, made sometime in the 50's, before a federal judge managed to indict him—for tax evasion, of all things—and reformists descended upon the cesspool of graft, voting fraud, gambling rings, and prostitution disdainfully referred to as "Tim's Town".

Antoine miraculously managed to keep his job in the wave of layoffs that ensued following the deconstruction of Pendleton's machine. And when a new City Council was voted in, appointing a new City Manager, Antoine was once again named Deputy City Manager. And in the cycle after that. And the one after that. Part of it was because Antoine was admittedly very capable at his job. Under his oversight, major department projects went ahead unhindered by bureaucratic red tape, and the city coffers always seemed to be in a surplus. Indeed, the people of Keystone City, having known only him for more than two generations, felt little reason to disrupt the status quo. You would think, though, that at some point this man would have run out of steam—he was going on 90 now. Every year people predicted that they'd read his name in the obituaries. Every year he confounded everyone by emerging from December sprightlier than ever. Pendleton's legacy couldn't seem to die.

When Jinx and Kid Flash arrived in Keystone City, they found not the marshal there to greet them, but Antoine, who promptly informed them that he was to be Jinx's probation officer. How he managed to get his hands on a contract under federal jurisdiction was beyond her, but he wasted no time flexing his power. New terms appeared in the compromise Robin worked so hard to secure.

"The offender is to report to the probationary officer—that is to say myself—once every two weeks," Antoine began explaining to her, taking a slight pause, his jaundiced eyes filled with murderous glee, "Failure to comply is to forfeit her life."

If her face had any color, it would have all drained out.

"The offender is to abide by a curfew of no later than midnight. Failure to comply is to forfeit her life."

He went on like this for some time, always looking back to her when he said those three terrible words: forfeit her life.

"The offender is not to travel outside the city limits of Keystone City. Failure to comply is to forfeit her life."

After 10 heart sinking minutes of this, he came to the final term.

"The offender is to wear an ankle collar, courtesy of S.T.A.R. Labs, which will monitor her location and administer… persuasive maneuvers… in instances of bad behavior. Failure to comply is to forfeit her life."

He held the collar up for her to see, relishing the horror on her face. As he shackled it around her foot, she cried out, "You're bluffing! You can't deliver capital punishment without the due process of law! Without indictment by a grand jury!"

He stood up and pinched her cheeks with those cold, shriveled talons, his fingernails digging into her face.

"You're a darling with that naiveté of yours. Y'know that? Why yes, indeed, under the 5th Amendment, a person is entitled to the due process of law, which includes, in cases of capital punishment, a grand jury."

She winced as he ripped out a tuft of her pink hair, raising it up for her to see.

"But you aren't exactly a person, are you?"

Without another word, he whipped out a switch from his pocket, upon which was a big red dial. Casting a leer at her, he turned it with his thumb. She didn't know she was capable of screaming like that. A week later, she read in the news that the local marshal had died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Faulty heater, apparently.

Jinx opened her eyes, greeted by the nighttime sky overlooking the Freight House District. She peered over at Kid Flash, his face buried in his arms. Poor lad. He did everything in his power to comfort her—to take her mind off her imposed servitude. That's what this movie night was: a way to take her mind off it all. But his inability to stand up to Antoine robbed him of all feelings of self-worth. The guilt haunted him at night. On the occasions when he stayed with her at the cramped, cockroach-infested apartment Antoine had made her abode, she awoke to find him staring at the low hung ceiling, his eyes puffy and bloodshot, salted tears trailing down his cheeks. Nothing she said could ease his pain—no words could assure him that he was not at fault.

They couldn't live like this. It wasn't possible. Not for another five years. But the only other way for Jinx to break free from her legal bindings was to bag a criminal—a big one. For this reason, she hounded away at Midas Corp with all her resolve, but it was to no avail. Countless times she and Kid Flash caught Angelo's men in the midst of extortions, drug trafficking, attempted kidnappings, and every other gang-related crime under the sun. And countless times the KCPD would give those men a friendly drive back to the Satyr to turn them loose again. Unless some other peril poked its head, it seemed extremely unlikely that Jinx and Kid Flash would escape Antoine's clutches.

She stared up at the waning crescent hovering above them. The night was still young. They had a few more hours before the curfew. There was no way in Hell that she was going to let the evening end on Antoine's visit. Grabbing ahold of the brick wall she had been leaning against, she slowly rose to her feet, her legs trembling under her weight. She managed to waddle over to Kid Flash, placing a single hand on his shoulder. His head perked up.

"I think I could use that dinner now."