"In these quadratic locations we shall insert thermal needles that will excite the crystalline particles of the translucent red material and thoroughly dissolve the imprisonment surrounding the human subject."

"But Cyborg, wouldn't you have to counteract for the variant oxygen displacement factor?"

"I already thought of that, but the low energy conditions of the crystalline sarcophagus has rendered the respiratory functions of the subject inert—Hence creating a sort of suspended animation that requires very little oxygen factor for the man to depend upon."

"Hey! What say you input an oxygen resuscitator into the upper orifices of the subject so as to assure proper functions during the process of reanimation and thus compensate for any temporal anomalies in the crystalline deconstruction?"

"GOOD….IDEA, Static! Hellz yeah! It's great having your brain on the team these days!"

"Dude, you're all right too. Heh heh heh…."

Beast Boy looks towards the other Titans. He portrays a goofy face and does a 'talk talk talk' charade with one hand. Starfire giggles. So does Terra to some extent….a lovely thing.

But I hardly notice. I am yawning.

Bard isn't yawning, though I can easily tell he wants to be. Well, I predict it. Everything else just seems to fall into place.

"Robin, if you can help Static and I operate the controls. You're good at turning knobs after all, boss."

"… …r-right."

"Can I assist?" Starfire floats over.

"Sure thing, Starfire," Static points towards a large basin within which the crystal'd thug is being suspended in a bubbling liquid. "Keep an eye on him and warn us if there's any strange changes in the subject's condition that our sensors can't pick up."

"Certainly. I can do that!" She flies over and cutely swats like a blood hound before the vessel.

I smile. Tyredly. Black eyes blinking. It has been a long day. I'd love to see them get some answers out of this zapped crook. But…. …'eesus….

"Uhm….I know that we're doing a lot to help out Mister Human Jelly Bean here," Beast Boy points while resting one arm around Terra's shoulder. "But in the meantime, does anyone have a smidgeon of an idea who the fluffing heck did this to him?"

"I vote for Willy Wonka," Cyborg mutters in mid console-tweaking. "Anyone disagree?"

"Hardy har har," Beast Boy sneers. "Leave the jokes to me, dude. It's sexier that way."

"Shucks, I'm lovin' this elf by the second," Bard chuckles.

"Heh, suit yourself, Garth Brooks."

"Yeeha! Thanks for the compliment."

"... ….," Beast Boy blinks. "Really?"

"Yeah, I like Garth Brooks," Terra nervously smiles.

"Beast Boy, I'm fixin' to steal your girlfriend."

"Do it and a green horse will be riding you up three flights of stairs, Lone Ranger."

"Heh, I'd pay to see that—"

"Guys—PLEASE," Robin barks.

I jump at the voice. I can't help it. With Robin.. …it's all instinctual.

"We need to concentrate on the situation at hand," Robin nods with his hands on the contraption's controls. "It may seem like an easy procedure—and I have every bit of confidence in Cyborg's tech and Static's knowledge—but a man's life is still potentially at stake."

"Thank you Mister Anus," Beast Boy fakes a yawn. Terra giggles.

"His life is at stake?" Bard leans his head to the side. "Who was tryin' to plug who full of bulletholes just hours ago, man?"

"Point taken, Bard. But unlike these meatheads, we actually respect ALL life."

"Heh, damn straight, mister boss man."

"So everyone who can lend a hand to this operation, please stick around and do so."

Robin's last words are magically effective for Beast Boy and Terra, or so it would seem. They wave off the laboratory and collectively yawn: "Yeah, we're out. Good night, folks."

"Take it easy, B.B. Terra," Cyborg mutters in mid calculation.

"Wake us up if—like—the world is exploding n'stuff," Terra murmurs as they walk off.

I suddenly appreciate their sentiment tenfold. Another yawn, a stretching of my upper body. And I am nearly dead.

Naturally, 'big brother' Bard is the first one to notice it. And he's even the first-er person to open his mouth about it: "Noir, why don't you skedaddle as well? You look about to collapse. And not in the good way, more like cowpoke shot on top of a saloon's rooftop way."

I smile.

Friggin' cowboy. High-ho silver yourself…

But he has a point. So I wave off to Cyborg, Robin, Static—the entire Nerd Trinity.

"Happy slorvax!" Starfire waves.

I turn and stumble out with Myrkblade in tow.

Gosh, what an angel. WHAP! DAH! Damn doorframe! Yeesh…

And I'm gone. Up a stairwell.

Bard turns and looks towards the group. "So, are we cooking this human hot pocket or what?"

"You sure you don't want to sleep through this, dawg?" Cyborg smirks as he switches on the thermal needles and aims them into the crystalline girth. "This is only exciting to those who can recite Season Three of Star Trek the Next Generation."

"Backwards!" Robin smirks.

"In Klingon!" Static adds.

"Ohhhhh….the Klingons," Starfire licks her lip while on 'watch'. "Such a delicious appetizer for the celebration of the Memblark Festival."

Nobody says anything. Not for half a minute. Until—

"Say what?" Cyborg blinks.

"We're ready, Cyborg."

"… .. …."

"Yo! Robo-Token! Anytime, bro!"

"Oh. R-Right, Static. Lemme just switch on the—Say, what the Hell did you just call me?"

"COMMENCE!" Robin pulls the switch himself.

"Dah! Jeez! Allrighty then…."

WHURRRRRRRR!

Bard does a southern-swagger step to a tool bench and sits casually on the edge with arms folded across his poncho. "This should be worth the ticket price…."

Everyone watches as the four needles pivot, descend, and dig their way into the red solidity of the crystal. The water inside the basin bubbles faster and faster. Starfire's eyes widen as she gazes up close. "Ooooooh…..prettttty…."

Static fights back a sharp laugh. Robin's cheeks are a faint red for some reason. Cyborg merely concentrates on the process. Studying the controls. Adjusting…. …Adjusting….

The needles dig in…and then there's a slight glow.

Bard lowers his shades and peers a pair of naked eyes. Curiously eyeing the light. His lips purse…

"All part of the show, folks," Cyborg mutters.

"You've got it, Cyborg," Robin quietly adds.

"Easy.. …Easy….," Static bends and cranes his neck to look. "… .. …" He glances down. "Star, how's he looking?"

"Healthy and tranquil!"

"Sounds good to me—"

"Shhh—This is the moment of truth," Cyborg stops the needles halfway through the diameter of the crystal and presses a large round switch.

Bard blinks.

And a bright red pulse of light burns through the crystal, melting, strobing, freeing, and—

FLASSSSH!

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

FLASSSSH!

I don't realize that I have collapsed until the sensation of falling down half a flight of stairs rocks me to a startling—THWOMP! I am sprawled across a platform slab in the stairwell. Panting. Tingling all over.

What on Earth---?.!.?

My vision. Wait—God, am I blind?

No, not blind.

I see…

I see… ….

My eyes are fluctuating. I blink a few times, and a few half-seconds before my normal vision returns, I can swear I almost see red tracers dancing and spiraling on the edges of everything. Like crimson clouds. Flickering.. …shimmering….

Gone.

Gone.

"… … …"

I take a breath. I glance at myself. I look like a fallen grandmother on some t.v. commercial. (Or maybe Fidel Castro.) I don't know whether to giggle or sob at the thought. Instead, I stand up, brush myself off, adjust Myrkblade's scabbard over my back, and stroll on down the steps with a regained—howbeit slightly nervous breath.

From now on, I reserve the random Cosmo Kramers for when I'm on LEVEL ground…

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

I have a room in the Tower. It is a small room. It is also a dark room. That's because it is in the basement. A very large.. …overly spacious basement. A certifiably frightening basement, too. But it's only frightening if you can't see in the dark.

And I? I can see in the dark. These black eyes know no better home. It's still kind of a new thing for the Titans, but they seem to be gradually getting used to it. There are still those little awkward moments when I'm in the kitchen upstairs when Cyborg is scrounging around for a midnight snack and fate ordains that when I walk up it's like a monster coming out of a dark closet and the resulting startle sends steak patties, bread slices, and sonic disruption beams sailing every which way—but no harm done. Not yet, at least.

This place is much safer. If not a bit darker or danker. Sure, I could have chosen a far cheerier place—if only one of the furnished bedrooms or guest rooms upstairs didn't have a friggin' window in it. But, who's to complain? If I'm to be a permanent Titan here, I'll have plenty of time to redecorate things.

If I'm a permanent Titan… … …y-yeah… …

I'm still working on that.

Bard too for that matter.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

Creaaaak—SWISSSH-CHTUNG!

I wince ever so slightly as my rusted door finally wins the fight with friction and opens all the way. I take a breath and step over the water seal and into my humble abode.

Home sweet home.

SWISSSH! The door's a lot quieter when closing. I'm getting used to those little quirks all throughout the Tower. It makes me feel comfortable… …like I have a future here.

What's more important to a fighter than a future?

I stroll across the pitch-black environment with my eyes as the guide. I don't have infrared vision, so I need at least a little light to get my bearings straight. So—with a left hand outstretched I spatially-sense the contours of the room and wander, wander, wander forward to where I know would be—

Ah!

My hand rests against a lamp built into the wall. An electric bulb slid into a sheathe of translucent plastic.

But why isn't it on--? Oh right.

I tap it with a finger.

Zzzt-Zzzt—

I punch it. WHAP!

Zzzt-T-T-Tingggg…..the light flickers on like a bad motor.

There we go.

I turn around and embrace the gray spectacle of the room. The moldiness in the corners of the walls. Why the moldiness?

Drip. Drip. Drip—water from various, questionable sources throughout the Tower collectively find their way to my basement abode and filter down through the ceiling tiles. It is a… … …less than desirable trait of my sleeping quarters. But I've learned to make good of that which I have been blessed with. For instance, just a good few well-placed buckets and—

Aw snap!

I grimace and cartoon-scramble over towards where a paint tray is failing to stop a puddle from forming on the floor. I nervously slide it underneath the persistent dripping from the center of the ceiling and let out a relieved breath. I walk backwards—nearly tripping over a crack in the floor and am further startled as two cockroaches and a centipede go scurrying away from the epileptic light.

I pant.. …pant….and take a meditative breath with my limbs flexing.

… … ….right….

Shower time!

I turn about and head towards the slightly less decrepit bathroom compartment built into the side of my quarters.

God, I love a good shower at the end of the day. I'm not sure why. Maybe because for a good three years of my life, I had to make do with living without showers. There's nothing more horrifying—in my opinion—than discovering the lengths and breadths of your own wretched scent.

Humans.. …Humans.. …Humans… …

As I head my way towards the shower, I strip of my shoes. My socks. I zip the back of my black jumpshirt down halfway. But just as I reach for Myrkblade's scabbard to slide off… .. …I freeze.

"… … .. … …"

My black eyes flicker a bit. I feel a cloud of pure Balance shifting towards my right side.. …and behind me. A shape. A form. A body.

An intruder--!

CHIII-IIIING!

I spin. Myrkblade spins. A fountaining froth of black, and I even snarl for good measure at my sudden opponent…..

… ….only to blink in perplexed amazement.

".. ….," Raven stares at me. At the flickering tip of my murking sword. Then at me again. ".. … …Cute."

"… … …," I blink. A half second, I then gasp, blush, and zip my shirt up in the back again. My lips move with a flurry of confused, disoriented, and altogether mute words that she couldn't possibly hear.

Not that it matters. "I'm sorry to have snuck up on you like that, Noir. From the stories Cyborg has told me, it sounds like we both suffer from the same habit."

I bit my lip at that and nervously smiled.

Her violet eyes narrow a bit from under her robe's hood. "Something about your upper back that you don't want to share with the world?"

My fingers are still on the zipper. I roll my black optics and contemplate sticking a tongue out at this young lady.

Creepy fluff… .. …Where'd she come from all of the sudden? Come to think of it, I don't even remember her being in Cyborg's laboratory during the resuscitation process.. … …

Wait, what the Hell's she doing down here anyways? My frickin' door's closed!

"It was a last second decision, but I wanted to catch you before you retired for the evening," she murmurs. "I couldn't help but since a little bit of distress from you earlier…."

Ever that droning, lifeless voice of hers. I have a hard time understanding Raven. She's deader than a doornail on two feet, and yet the rest of the team has such a huge admiration for her. It's remarkable—and depressing all the same. Remarkable because it shows that she must have some great tenacity for whatever she's gone through. Depressing—because I realize that whatever it is that the Titans know about her, it has taken an entirety of their heroic careers for them to earn that trustworthiness from her. For noobies such as me, Bard and—well—Static, that means we've got a Hell of a lot of catching up to do. That, or—we can pretty much use Raven as a pressure gauge to show us how impossibly out of the loop we are… …and may forever be.

Oh, wait—What the Hell is she talking about? Distress—what?

"As you left the laboratory, something happened to you," Raven drones. "As an executive Titan, it's my duty—and concern—to make sure you're all right."

I blink. Confusedly. Numbly. Huh? Wait—she's an empath, right? But doesn't that mean that I have to know what's up with myself first before she knows it or can she know things that I don't know or--?

Oh wait. The stairwell. I collapsed suddenly. But… …that was just a case of tangle-foot….right?

"… … …," she stares at me.

I smile nervously. I shrug. I shake my head, shrug again, and mouth: 'I am fine'.

She stares at me some more.

I sweat a little bit. Yes, I will admit it.

"Well, if anything like that should happen again…," she murmurs. "Just let us know."

I nod fervently.

By all means.

"Oh.. ….and you must be wondering about Terra.. ….," she reads me.

I perform a double-take. ".. …?.!.?"

"It is.. …a long story. But it is a story best to keep quiet. Not so much hidden—but to speak of it will only bring about a painful redundancy that—quite honestly—Terra doesn't need to have to endure right now. Please trust me, Noir. And pass the word along to Bard too if you could. Robin and I will share with you all we can about Terra in the not-too-distant future. But just.. …keep it cool around her for now, do you understand what I mean?"

I nod. I nod with honesty. But I can't help but scratch my head.

But why can't you go talk to Bard yourself--?

"Sorry again for the intrusion," she drones her way to the door with a swish of her elegant blueness. "You sleep well. I know how much you like to meditate in the mornings. And that's the last thing myself or anyone would want to fluster."

I smile slightly at that.

Creaaaak—SWISSSH-CHTUNG!

"But know this.. ….," she pauses in the doorway. ".. …. …the next time I catch you, Bard, or anyone pawing my robes in the laundry in even the slightest, and I'll give you nights of endless nightmares." Her eyes flicker a blazing-hot gray. "…. ….. ….the least you can do is ask first."

I am numb by this point. But at her last words, I point innocently towards myself and dribble off words that I don't even have to ramble—

SWISSSSH!

"… … …"

Okaaaay.

Someone call the exorcist. Stat!

I sigh my way towards the shower, but not without tossing Myrkblade onto my cot. Thwap!

-T-T-T-T-T-T-

My mind is preoccupied.

But necessarily with what Bard and Cyborg and the rest must be discovering upstairs.

Not so much with the meditating I plan on doing early tomorrow sunrise.

Not even the fact that—just like many other nights—I nearly died from bulletfire this evening.

It's something that has been bothering me a lot lately. Something I don't even tell Bard about. I don't have anyone I could possibly 'tell' this to… .. …nobody but myself.

It haunts me as I slide under the one or two blankets I have spared myself on my lone cot of a bed. I shudder and think about my new companions.. …'friends'.. … ..comrades in arms. I am so thankful for being inducted into the Titan's Tower. So truly thankful. And there is nothing I can do to deny it. I can only hope the likes of Robin and Bard can realize how thankful I am, and that there's nothing I'd do to complain.

But when Bard insists that I'm 'shy'—and I won't lie, I've heard him say it—or when Starfire makes cute comments about my quietness or when Static Shock or Beast Boy jokes that I should 'speak up' more….

I hope they realize.. …I hope they figure it out…

This scar on my throat.. …These lips that barely open.. …

It's not that I won't talk. If I could… …if I just could.. …I would wear the Ear of the World off.

And the irony of the blessing of being a Titan is its sudden curse exposed to blacklight: surrounded by so many close peoples, I am suddenly aware of how lonely an existence I have for me from hereon out. I… …I-I really can't complain. A hero makes its sacrifice.

It's just that….

Th-That I still have the awful aftertaste of Heaven in my throat. For there was a time—not too awfully long ago—when I knew what it was like to always have someone… …a certain Someone to talk to on such a regular basis that sh-she and I practically shared the same brain.

And the same heart… …

I have gained so many things in this move, but I shall never regain that….

I feel that haunting soreness in my empty throat again. It's almost a nightly routine. So I clench my eyes shut before the moistness shows through to the sheltered night.

It's okay.

It's okay—just… …

Think of a happy thought.

Beast Boy's silliness.


Starfire's sweet, melodic voice.

A good guitar song from Bard on an autumn afternoon.

A game of Street Fighter.

Feeding squirrels in the park.

Drifting…Drifting….Drifting…

Asleep.