Hi. (Sighs). Everything's okay with me: I'd like to apologize for not updating in so long, but stress is a real killer, no? So, here's a new chapter for "Scars." The thing with this title is that it always gets that song by Papa Roach stuck in my head…Anyway: Sorry for taking so long. If school is nice, and willing enough to slack off, I shall update like nuts.

Chapter Two: Richard

Slade-

"So…you are willing to admit that, for awhile, you went under the alias of 'Psyche,' a name which reflected your…shall we call it 'powers'?"

"…Yes."

"You agree that you possess precognitive abilities that enable you to see things in the future, before they occur?"

There was a sigh, and static rippled over the tape recording. Slade was leaning against the wall of his lair; though the police had trashed it somewhat when they'd found his body, it was still the perfect place to hide. True, the computer screens had been cracked and some even shattered; the desk he'd used to contain a few papers (and where he'd kept the gun for Batman) had had its drawers pulled out, and the sparse contents dumped upon the floor—thankfully, nothing important was missing, or out of place. And the catwalks…

Well, he thought with a tight smile, there were certainly a lot of stains on the metal, and the floor below that specific bridge where he and Robin had been murdered.

The recorded interview session between Wintergreen and Ms. Watson was still playing, though there had been an absence of conversation for some time now. Then:

"Yes. I do. I can't explain how, but—"

"Yes or no answers will do. I don't require specifics—"

"But…"

"Yes or no."

A disgruntled groan followed, and a few minutes later another sigh, that signified Watson's compliance with his old friend's demands.

"Good. We can proceed. Now…are you, or are you not, capable of murder?"

"…"

"Answer the question, Ms. Watson."

"…Yes."

"Ah. And can you state, in all honesty, that you were notorious in London constant theft, and responsible for the deaths of at least twenty people?"

"Not in a row—"

"Ahem?"

"…Yes…Yes, yes, YES! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT WITH ME? WANT DO YOU WANT ME FOR? WHY ARE YOU DOING—"

Wintergreen stepped forward and pressed the stop button on the tape recorder, and rolled his eyes.

"I'm afraid that that was the part where she became a bit hysterical, and civilized conversation was difficult to achieve."

"Hmm," Slade mused, half listening, half brooding. Wintergreen hesitated, and then asked quietly:

"If you don't mind my curiosity, Slade…what do you hope to accomplish with her assistance?"

"A distraction," The young man explained bluntly. "Our Mr. Wayne, as you yourself stated earlier, is rather protective of his son. "Now: If he were kept busy until the last moment, when he found out what was truly taking place, he wouldn't be able to interfere. The plan would be too far along, by then…"

The mastermind chuckled to himself, and traced the hole that was pierced in the center of his mask. He still hadn't replaced it, choosing to wait for his first encounter with "Richard."

"After all…what better way to strike at the legendary Dark Knight then by using one of his most potent weaknesses?"

Wintergreen seemed impressed by it, but his brow was still creased in befuddlement.

"Slade…"

"Yes?"

"Err…nothing," the elderly gentleman stumbled. "Just, I was thinking: I have to go meet Ms. Watson soon, to give her your first orders…do you have anything yet?"

"As a matter of fact, I do…"

-----------------------

Gotham was nearing daybreak, and Ms. Nadia Halverson couldn't sleep. It could have been insomnia, she guessed, as she slipped out of bed to retrieve her robe and slippers. She always had felt that he suffered from that particular problem. Or it could have been merely the idea that in a few more hours, she'd be back at that hellhole of brats, sitting at a desk and clacking away at the computer, while the students shot spitballs and tried their best to get Principal Daniels angry with them.

Halverson tiptoed to her kitchen and started up a pot of coffee, wheezing coughs interrupting her progress then and now. Nadia was getting up in her years, but only fantasized about retirement. Mr. Daniels, over at Gotham City High, depended on her to write up notes, and program schedules, and alert him when people were there to see him. She had even wondered a few times whether or not he would be able to tie his own left shoe if she were not present.

She thought of all of this in a fond manner, as Eric Daniels was always a decent man, and had rewarded her with a good salary and the occasional bonuses during the years, in exchange for all her troubles.

Maybe…maybe why she couldn't sleep, she contemplated as she took a seat at the table, was because she knew that young Grayson boy was going to be dragged into the office today, caught up in his newest dilemma. Nadia shook her head steadily, and sipped. That poor kid…he was a good sort, one of the few she'd liked in her entire time spent at that school. He had a strong sense of justice, and independence…but he had the bad habit of getting into fights in the pursuit of defending another person's honor. And so, he had been labeled by a few of the teachers as a trouble maker.

What do they know? Some of them are just hoity-toity—

Before her mind completed this sentence, there came a knock on the front door. Halverson's white eyebrows shot into her hairline. Who would come to call at this time? And in such a respectable neighborhood?

Ms. Halverson set down her drink and made her way to the foyer of her home, slippers scuffing on the wooden flooring.

"Hello? One moment, I'm coming…"

She unbolted the door and swung it open—

A young woman with wild blonde hair and the palest blue eyes she'd ever seen was standing there; beaten clothing hung on her skinny body, and tears (they weren't caused out of pity, or joy, but anger, as if she'd recently been in a vicious argument) streaked her complexion. The stranger held an odd shaped gun in her hand.

—BANG.

Bruce-

The sunrise's first beams of light were just falling across the panes of Wayne Manor's large windows, and spilling a basin of dawn's colors across the front hall, when the bookcase in the library creaked open; Bruce crept out, buttoning his shirt as fast as he could, while struggling to jam one foot into a shoe.

"Master Wayne?"

Bruce winced and walked to the stairs: Alfred was leaning on one of the banisters, a dusting rag in hand, and he seemed displeased.

"You," the butler said, and gestured at the Batman with his free hand, "have an extremely important meeting at Wayne Enterprises this morning. I told you I didn't want you to go out in the city last night, so you would be prepared for negotiations, or for the conference to go on for several hours! And yet you ignored me!"

"C'mon, Alfred," Bruce grumbled. "I had to…it's my duty to the people of this city—"

"—To be the symbol of Gotham, the defender of the weak and the helpless, and the end of all things devious and dark," Alfred finished with a small smile. "I've heard this one, already."

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Sorry, Alf…I know I said I wouldn't. I apologize for lying to you."

"You had better," The British man said, but he was joking now. "I was up nearly all of this morning waiting for you to come back."

"What's one meeting anyway?" The billionaire playboy said casually, and collapsed into the nearest chair. "If I need to keep myself awake, that's what caffeine was invented for…"

He stifled a yawn, and Alfred took a seat next to him.

"I did some more research on that Slade person," the butler announced, and Bruce's interest was spurred immediately.

"There isn't much in the files. Bits and pieces—someone did an excellent job at concealing information about him and his past."

"What'd you get?"

"Names," Alfred said, and handed Bruce a folder of papers and documents. Most of the writing was irrelevant, but the old man had highlighted the intriguing segments, or things that could lead to more research.

"Wilson, Kane, Wintergreen, Worth…" The hero of Gotham read. "There certainly are a lot of W's…Wilson…where have I heard that before?"

Bruce, if he had had his way, would have buried himself in the readings for the rest of the day; but, as Alfred was present, he had to get ready for the board meeting."

"Sir?" The butler added, as the both of them went for the car. "It may be wise to talk with Mr. Fox, and see if he knows anything about the first three names."

"Why? How would he know?"

"Lucius has had dealings with the army, and these three people were in the war. If he knows anything about experiments too, it may be wise to note them."

"Right," Bruce murmured, and sank back into the leather seats to reflect.

3:30, P.M.

"FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!"

"Take it back!"

"Who's gonna make me? You, asshole?"

"FIGHT, FIGHT!"

"C'mon, retard! Ha, ha, what's the matter? Afraid to actually stick up for the ni—"

"Shut UP!"

Amelia/Psyche-

"SETTLE DOWN! Both of you! Honestly, what are you thinking, getting into a brawl? This is a school, not a wrestling arena! Think of what your parents would say!"

Amelia peeked a glance from behind the huge, white folder she was clutching; fake glasses were perched on the very tip of her nose, and her blond, wispy hair was pulled back in a messy bun. The fogged panes of the office were darkened by a massive shadow coming in her direction, and she promptly assumed a meek, pathetic expression.

Just a few minutes before she'd heard the shouting, she'd been silently cursing Mr. Wintergreen and his 'bloody blackmail' that had landed her in this position in the first place—not to mention that damned, secret employer of his. Who had known a secretary's job could be so difficult? Too many papers, and not enough drawers to stuff them in. If she ever got the chance, she was going to stab Wintergreen in the head…

But such fantasies were for another, more peaceful time, she decided, and hunched her shoulders in a pitiful manner. Five seconds later, George Smith—he was a teacher here at this ratty excuse for a school, she thought darkly—marched through the doorway. He was dragging two boys, who looked like they'd been in a serious scuffle, behind him. One child was tall and thick about the middle, with terrible acne and a bad haircut…the other had ebony hair that stuck up in haphazard spikes, and his eyes were a furious sapphire…his features would have appeared nicer, if he was smiling instead of scowling rudely.

"Who are you?" Mr. Smith asked abruptly, watching her as if she were from a distant planet. Amelia gave a timid grin, and tittered idiotically.

"I'm Ms. Halverson's associate. She's…temporarily detained with some personal business…"

Oh yes, she's only somewhat concerned with the fact that she woke up on a one-way flight halfway around the world, with absolutely no clue how she got there, her mind said disgustedly.

"So I'll be taking her place for the time being…err, did you want something?" She questioned, and nodded sheepishly at the highschoolers; they didn't even take notice of her (the ugly one was gnashing his teeth in an irritating sort of way, and the other youth was eyeing the front part of the office loftily).

"Yes. Is Principal Daniels in at the moment? There needs to be some…disciplinary action taken," Smith growled; the children ignored him.

"Of—of course," she stuttered, "you can go right in. I'll just…just buzz him?"

While she tapped the button with a fingertip, she squinted inconspicuously at the dark-haired boy. Where had she seen him—?

"Yes, what is it?" Daniels quipped in his dignified tone over the tiny speaker.

"Mr. Smith is here to see you. He says disciplinary action is required…"

"Oh, dear. Well, send him in, along with whomever he has right now."

Amelia responded with a jaunty, "yes, sir," and ushered the three men towards the principal's door. As the teen with the blue eyes passed her, Watson examined him cautiously, right until he disappeared into Daniels' room. Only when she was alone, did the woman reach into her purse and pull out the photograph. It wasn't a particularly good one, but Wintergreen had given it to her, to help her identify this boy he and his boss were interested in.

The photo showed a solemn teen apart from a group of people his age, all whom were grinning widely. Jet black hair, bright blue eyes…same scowl, same chin…

Amelia gave a tight smile. She'd found their little target. If she was lucky, she just might have the chance to get this job done with sooner than she'd known.

-----------------------

Mr. Eric Daniels massaged his temples wearily, as he stared across his desk at the two young men who sat there: Patrick Rodman, and Richard Grayson, both whom were smudged with dirt and flecked with blood from tiny cuts on their faces. Mr. Smith stood obediently in the corner, surveying the scene.

"Boys," He said sternly. "This is the fourth time this week you've been in my office. Obviously, there is an issue to be addressed here. Now…" Daniels gave a tiny groan that he concealed with a clear of his throat. "Shall we start over? Tell me what happened—"

"He attacked me!" Patrick blurted, and fluttered his hand wildly at Richard; the darker teenager wasn't shouting like his companion, but glaring fixedly at a mold spot on the ceiling. Mr. Daniels half glanced up as well, almost expecting something to be up there, from the intensity of the boy's stare. This newcomer was most…unusual…

"Oh, did he, Mr. Rodman?" Daniels turned politely to Richard and said firmly:

"Mr. Grayson, do you have anything to say to this?"

"…I hit him for a reason, you know," Richard explained coldly. "He had it coming—all of the times—"

"Did not! Did not!" Patrick shouted immaturely. "I did so not provoke him!"

Daniels gave a strangled sort of yell, and slammed his palm on the surface of his desk. The sudden noise caused Mr. Smith to start, and both student to go silent. The trio waited for him to start his lecture.

"Mr. Grayson: Why did you punch Mr. Rodman in the nose this time?"

Richard squirmed in his chair, as if he were resisting to answer…then:

"He said that African-Americans were niggers…"

The principal paused momentarily, an then exhaled sharply.

"Mr. Smith? Will you use the new secretary's phone to notify Mr. and Mrs. Rodman about their son's offensive language? I want to speak with Mr. Grayson in private…"

"Of course," Smith obliged, and yanked a nosy Patrick out the door.

The only sound in Principal Daniels office was the ticking of a clock that was mounted on the wall. The boy watched the seconds hand tick on by, eyes glued to it. Daniels observed him, and patted his protruding belly; the man was getting on in his years, and the salt and pepper color of his hair and whiskers showed it. He was a bit overweight, and nearly blind as a bat when it came to reading—but in all his years of education, he'd never once underestimated the minds of the young people he talked with. Richard Grayson, the adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, was an exceedingly important student, as his father donated huge amounts of money to the board of administration. Grayson was highly intelligent, though, perhaps more than the usual kids that walked through the front doors of his building—and that made him different in a whole different way.

Daniels didn't know what had happened to the young man prior to his arrival at Gotham Public Highschool; all he knew was that it was obvious that Grayson wasn't the sort of person who was used to taking orders from other ordinary people, including the teachers, and the principal himself.

So, trying to make himself seem as grandfatherly as possible, Mr. Daniels leaned forward, laced his fingers, and said:

"Richard…"

The boy jolted, as if he were shocked at being talked to, but said nothing.

"I know that you must have trouble adjusting to this new environment…do you want to tell me what's going on so that I can figure out how to help you?"
The youth half shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm fine…it's no big deal."

Daniels narrowed his eyes a bit, and, removing his glasses, started polishing the lenses.

"I think it is. Four fights in a week? Apparently, there is something wrong with this place. I can't help you if you don't tell me what is wrong…"

Richard muttered a few incomprehensible words beneath his breath, and Mr. Daniels rearranged some of the papers of his desk until he had the boy's attention once more.

"Mr. Smith tells me that you know martial arts…Tae Kwon Do, maybe?"

The youth slowly nodded in a guarded way.

"Yeah, so what?"

"He said you used it on Mr. Rodman."

"That's right. I defended myself when he tried to hit me. I learned Tae Kwon Do to protect myself against the people that are out there."

Daniels gave a little laugh.

"Richard, you don't need to be concerned with people trying to harm you, in here or out there. The chances are that you live in a protected neighborhood away from crime and bad men and women. Tell me: Who is actually going to harm you?"

He had meant to comfort the boy, but the child locked their gazes with an unwavering stare, and said slowly:

"Mr. Daniels…you may think I'm stupid, or that I don't know exactly what I'm talking about. You can make as many assumptions about me as you want…"

Richard leaned across the desk, and showed the principal both of his arms; white lines flecked his pale flesh on either side, traveling up from the wrist to beneath the sleeve of the T-shirt he wore. Daniel's was so stunned, he stayed quiet. Grayson continued in a deadly quiet voice:

"But you and I know, even if it's deep down inside us, that there are evil men out there…and I know they wouldn't think twice about killing you or me…"

Silence greeted this profound declaration, and Eric Daniels felt himself at a loss for words. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a bell ring, and the telltale stampede of students' feet down the hallways. And right in front of his eyes, Richard Grayson made the transformation back into a carefree schoolboy, and headed for the door, and saying over his shoulder:

"I'll talk with my father about my behavioral problems, and he'll meet with you to discuss them in a couple of days."

The door slammed shut, and the principal remained blinking in horrified shock.

"Oh my god…"

Robin-

To put it simply, he missed the Titans like hell.

Robin strolled down the halls of Gotham High, depressed, while his fellow pupils chatted gleefully, and transferred the junk in their lockers to their backpacks.

Gosh, how did ordinary people live every day like this!

Sure, he missed the adrenaline rush from typical heroics, what with swooping to save the day, and defeating the criminals; but it was the mere suggestion that the four of them were together, and he was alone that killed him.

Cyborg, Raven, Beast Boy, Starfire…what have I gotten myself into?

I wonder what they'd say if they could see me now, Robin thought bitterly as he undid his lock combination. Cy and BB would be laughing his head off that I'm stuck with retarded homework that I already learned when I was twelve. Raven and Starfire might sympathize, although Star might also be confused…she probably doesn't even yet comprehend why I've gone…

He would give anything to see Jump City preceding the flood: The tall skyscrapers reaching into the air, rooftops seemingly going up into the clouds, people that were still alive walking down streets that weren't barricaded with debris…Titan's Tower glistening from the light reflected off the ocean and onto its sleek frame, and the Titans within, sprawled about the living room during their time off…

It makes you hate Slade even more, doesn't it, not just because he annihilated your home, and tried to kill your friends—though those are reason enough—but because he forced you to go into hiding and leave it all behind, right?

"Why did I have to meet you?" Robin whispered, and pressed his forehead against the cold metal of his locker. "Why did you ruin my life…?"

He removed his textbooks and piled them into his book bag, then locked it and stormed off, in a black mood. It was only after he'd completely exited the building, did Amelia sneak forward; by then, all the other kids had gone—off to meet up with buddies of theirs—and no one saw her break Robin's lock, and begin to rifle through his possessions.

To be Continued…

This chapter could have been longer, I'll admit it…but then, it can wait. It's not incredibly important. So: Amelia's spying for Wintergreen and Slade, Bruce is doing his detective stuff—what he does best!—and Robin hates his new life (which comes as no surprise). Hope I didn't kill you all with the boringness of this chappie, but it's necessary info. Next update (which, I might add, shall come soon!): We get to see Starfire's POV, Robin makes a gigantic mistake—and Slade exploits it, of course—and there shall be a fight scene (Ha!)

By the way: Please read this if you can (or care, for that matter). Dlsky is holding a challenge that I am taking part in along with several other fabulous authors. They are: Sarah Shima, Furubafun24, Alexnandru Van Gordan, Dlsky herself, Slade Wilson-Deathstroke, and Kaliann. If you guys want to read our stories, please check them out! Each of them are really good (well, except for mine) and you'll probably enjoy them a ton! (Not to mention that if we don't abide by the rules, you have the power to disqualify us).

Have a great evening/day, and I will update soon (I promise)

Over and out:

Rebel