Well, I'm back for a new chapter; and no more waiting three weeks! I'm going back to my original two week schedule…technically, I don't think I should have been switching around in the first place, but things have been complicated (school, illnesses, and this monster of a project for science—thankfully, it all ended on the twenty-seventh. (Heaves a sigh of relief.) Anyway; I shan't delay you any longer. This chapter will be a lot longer, and most likely somewhat better than my current updates…
Chapter Seven:
"I can't believe you let him slip through your fingers!" Boris snapped as he and Naomi drew closer to the launch pad where one of DeFarge's hovercrafts were scheduled to descend and pick them up; he was trying his best to sound frustrated, to act as if it were just another job and he was disappointed that they'd fail, particularly at the idea that they wouldn't get paid. Despite his tries to act unconcerned, though, the fearful tremor was only too evident in his voice.
"I already told you," Naomi retorted bitterly, obviously nettled by his accusation, "that I couldn't have done anything. I was knocked unconscious. Besides, I didn't see you go charging up and demand that we follow him."
"Our time was already up as it was—DeFarge would have been pissed if we'd come back late, even if we had both of the brats," Boris explained, and jostled Raven (who had been slung over one of his shoulders) to emphasize his point.
"As it is, she's good enough; and even if we still didn't snatch Robin, we can always go back."
Naomi considered.
"Yeah, you're probably right; I mean, DeFarge is somewhat short on good help, so he'll probably only kill one of us. Whoever's left alive will most likely be the one to kidnap the snot—I guess."
The two continued on in silence for a few moments; all the while, Naomi's brow furrowed more and more, as she sank into thought. She didn't see why the Ravager would throw a hissy-fit, just because they hadn't nabbed one, stupid little kid. They had the rest of the Titans imprisoned, so it wasn't like they should be expecting some sort of crazy rescue mission, or anything along the lines of that. Why was one dumb teen so stinking—?
"Speak."
The woman blinked, and stared at her companion with a blank expression.
"Sorry?"
"You've got something on your mind, I can see that. You have a question, right? So speak. Let me hear it."
Sometimes, Naomi thought grumpily as she opened her mouth to explain, she wished Boris didn't know her so well.
"I just don't understand why the last kid's such a big deal. After all: Four super-powered heroes are a lot better than one scrawny, average human being, or at least, that's my opinion. Why does Robin matter more than the others?"
She'd expected an apathetic shrug, or a grunt, or something along those lines. But instead, Boris cast a nervous glance towards the ink-black sky as if he honestly was under the impression that someone might drop in and overhear them, before muttering:
"How much, exactly, do you know about this whole invasion of this city?"
"Not much," Naomi admitted truthfully. "When I was hired, all I cared about was the price and the job description…and then I agreed to take it on. I didn't think DeFarge was interested in anything else other than stirring up chaos and destruction. After all—he does seem to like doing that a lot—"
"Did you know that…Deathstroke was involved?"
The bounty hunter's mouth dropped open.
"Deathstroke? The Deathstroke? As in, the Terminator?"
Boris nodded solemnly.
"I thought he was dead!"
"No," her partner said grimly. "He's just been very quiet the past couple of years. There was a rumor going around awhile ago that he had settled down in this city, to start up some trouble, but no one was quite sure, mostly because he dropped his mercenary name."
"But why—?"
"I don't know much, I'll tell you that. But I do know that DeFarge and Deathstroke are enemies: Always have been, always will be. When Wade caught wind that the Terminator was in town, he probably would have been willing to tear the whole city apart, brick by brick, just to find the man."
"You're still not telling me why—"
"Aren't you wondering how Wade found out?"
"Well, yeah, I am—"
"A couple years back, Deathstroke pulled a stunt; a pretty stupid one if you ask me, because it gave away his location, not only to the Ravager, but to plenty other people who would love to track him down. Heroes, for instance."
"So?"
"It was out of this one event that DeFarge came up with a way to fight the Terminator. See—and you're not going to believe this," Boris added, allowing himself an incredulous chuckle, "but it turns out that the infamous Deathstroke actually—"
The rest of his words, however, were drowned out by the ear-splitting noise of helicopter blades descending upon them; Naomi and Boris were briefly blinded by the glare of floodlights, before the helicopter landed, right there and then in the middle of the deserted street, and the pilot (another hunter named Julius, who had cropped brown hair and a smarmy look to his face) disembarked and eyed the pair loftily.
"I thought you were bringing back two," he observed rudely. "I wouldn't have bothered flying a larger helicopter over here if I had known it was only going to be you two and one captive."
"And hello yourself, Julius," Boris quipped, shouldering Raven's limp form again. "It's nice to see you too."
Without another word, her companion swept aboard the craft, not even sparing a backward glance; Naomi stared hard at the middle of his back in confusion, barely concealing her look of puzzled anger. Darn Julius…had to sweep in just at that moment…
Oh well. There would be plenty of time later to pump Boris for more information about the relationship between the legendary Deathstroke and the Ravager.
That is, if DeFarge didn't kill either of them first.
-partners-
"There is one thing that you must understand about the Ravager," Slade stated seriously, while he removed several crates from the stacks they'd been placed in. Robin was sitting cross-legged atop a box behind the man, glowering, and every so often rubbing the side of his face defensively; otherwise, neither of the two showed any indication of the struggle that had recently occurred.
"And what's that?" Robin spat, though it sounded as if he could have cared less. Slade didn't react, but chose to break open the top of one of the crates, and rifled nonchalantly through its contents.
"This man may be one of the most dangerous people you will ever have the misfortune to meet. When we rescue your friends, I suggest that we proceed with caution."
Robin snorted quietly, but said nothing, and allowed the man to continue.
"The Ravager is a mercenary," Slade announced, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Boy Wonder raising an eyebrow. He brushed past it.
"He has perfected different techniques of killing; the subject of assassination and murder is an art in his eyes. He is ruthless, and dangerous, and stops at nothing to eliminate obstacles in his path; yet, he is also deceptive. If you are ever captured, I suggest you never let your guard down for a moment, no matter how gracious he may appear…"
Slade trailed off, waiting for some bitter retort. Robin was silent for a few moments, before he commented, sounding thoughtful:
"He sounds…a lot like you."
The man laughed cruelly, even as he felt a hollow feeling swallow up his insides at that remark; the teenager had no clue just how right he was…
However, Slade refused to be sentimental in front of his adversary, and quickly blew past the present subject.
"Then you'll be well prepared to face him," he stated practically. "Until then, I'll leave you to selecting and gathering necessary supplies—"
"Huh?"
Slade faced the puzzled Boy Wonder, not even fazed by the interruption.
"What are you talking about, 'selecting and gathering necessary supplies'? Where are we going?"
"You wanted to rescue your friends, did you not?"
"Yes," Robin started to say, "But—"
"And you were planning to pursue the Ravager, were you not?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then we need supplies. The Ravager is keen on hunting you down, but he won't stay for long if Gotham sends over a police force, and they're bound to do so, sooner or later. The Ravager will flee and wait for the officials to leave; then he'll return—though it may be several weeks before he does so…and in that time, who knows? Perhaps one of the Titans decides to annoy him, and he decides, in a rage, to kill them—"
"Shut up!"
Robin was on his feet, eyes narrowed to slits, and his hands balled into fists…even if it was only to keep them from trembling out of anger and fear.
"—so I suppose you'd rather not wait for him to come back?" Slade asked complacently.
The Boy Wonder shot him a poisonous look; it was enough of an answer.
"Good boy," Slade murmured. "I also suggest changing your clothes."
"What!"
"I don't know what kind of land we're going to be traveling over, but I suggest you wear something darker, or less noticeable; you stand out like a canary in that uniform," he added under his breath, knowing well that it would needle his young foe.
The comment did the trick: Robin flushed a dark red, but unwillingly got to his feet, and smashed in the top of the crate nearest to him. Slade nodded briskly to show that he was satisfied, and turned to go, saying over his shoulder:
"If you need me, I'll be outside, keeping watch. Let me know if something is wrong."
He was almost to the door, when Robin spoke again.
"Hey! What about you?"
The man turned slightly on his heel.
"Pardon?"
"Why do I have to change? You go walking into Gotham, or somewhere similar, people are going to recognize your face immediately? The same will happen with me."
"Then we'll avoid the cities, won't we?"
Slade tried to go again, but Robin wasn't finished yet.
"So what's the difference? Why only me? The Ravager knows you, you said; he's going to recognize you right away!"
Slade considered the furious hero, before sighing in exasperation.
"It doesn't matter if he recognizes me, because I'm the only one he was ever interested by in the first place."
"But, then why—?"
"I'm going out now; save your questions for later."
The villain stalked out, shutting the doors of the warehouse tightly behind him, leaving Robin inside. Needless to say, the Boy Wonder was not pleased; he was tired, sore, incredibly confused, and, more than anything, felt like giving Slade a good punch in the jaw. But, much to his own amazement, he followed the man's suggestions, and began digging through different boxes, pulling out food, water, and clothing.
Despite the great aggravation he was feeling at the moment, Robin couldn't stop himself from wondering…if, under the terms of this "partnership" they had formed…if that meant they were allies now. It wasn't as if this was the first time they had joined one another to fight side by side—when Raven's father had had his brief dominion over the world, he and Slade had come together to battle the demon's minions, and find Raven.
It had been an extremely weird situation, and had bothered him for a few nights. Eventually, though, he'd drawn the conclusion that Slade had only wanted to help because he had benefited from Trigon's destruction.
What did Slade have to gain from this?
…Were…were they really partners now?
As Robin strode around, collecting items that were strewn all about the warehouse tables, and floor, he stumbled over the laser—the familiar looking weapon Slade had been fiddling with when he'd first awoken—that had been knocked to the ground during their scuffle.
It was the thermal blaster that Slade had bestowed upon him as some sort of sick "gift" when he was being blackmailed by the criminal.
The Boy Wonder found himself staring at the weapon with mingled fury and regret, as a burning, sick feeling sunk into the pit of his stomach.
Then the sensation passed, and he angrily dismissed the memories, by kicking the laser off into the corner.
No matter what happened, he swore to himself that he would never willing join Slade…and that, even though they were teaming up with one another to save the Titans…if he ever got the chance, Robin swore he'd kill him.
-partnership-
Naomi and Boris stood, shuffling their feet worriedly, and attempting to act confidently casual, before Wade's ice-cold gaze. Their merciless employer sat, with his feet propped up on the corner of his desk in the secluded office area he'd created for himself aboard one of the hovercrafts that was their base, his hands folded together, as though he were the very picture of a patient, understanding boss. The expression that lingered in his eyes, though, contradicted everything in his supposed manner, and the two bounty hunters were waiting for the awful moment where he'd order them to be killed out of incompetence.
"Explain to me what exactly happened?" Wade questioned, feigning innocence.
Naomi and Boris exchanged hurried, terrified glances.
"Well…we—we—we," Naomi stuttered, "that is to say, we lured the empath into a trap with that alien girl's call, and we k—kn—knocked her out, you see. So, then, w—we—"
"We were about to capture her and bring her back to the ship, when Robin—"
"—the br—err, boy you were interested in—"
"Yes, well, he swooped in, and demanded that we release her…"
As Wade's face continued to darken, Boris's ramblings grew worse.
"…S…s…so…so…?"
The German looked around vaguely for Naomi, with a bleary, confused looking face, signaling for her to jump in immediately.
"So we fought him. And…and we won! Yeah! We won! I knocked him out as well…but then…just as we were about to tie him up and bring him back with that bird-girl…something—or somebody—must have rammed us, because we both blacked out, and when we woke up—"
BAM!
The sudden sound of Wade's feet slipping off his desk to hit the steel floor of the office caused both of the hunters to jump and flinch violently, rather as if they had been expecting it to be the bang of a gun. Instead, the Ravager now looked intrigued, and slight concerned by their story.
"The boy was gone, wasn't he?"
Naomi bobbed his head up and down eagerly.
Wade's brow creased in thought, and he sank back into his chair with a troubled air about him.
"I see…"
There was a moment of silence.
"What are you two wretches still doing in here!" The mercenary snarled viciously. "Get out! I need to think, and I can't do with you pathetic morons hovering around!"
The pair, ready to obey, nodded and stammered apologies as they tripped and fell backwards before closing the door behind them. Only then, in the safety of the hallway, did Boris manage to look triumphant in front of Naomi for a fleeting second, as if to say,
"I told you so."
-partners-
Wade paced feverishly about his quarters, evaluating the new information that had come to light, thanks to those two idiot hunters:
Slade was definitely here. And what was even more…thrilling, was that he most likely knew what DeFarge was after.
Good. That made the game all the more fun.
There was a knock on the door, and, pausing only to inhale, Wade immediately announced in a curt voice:
"Come in."
One of the new bounty hunters—Julius, he believed it was—entered, looking humble before his employer.
"Mr. DeFarge," he murmured respectfully, inclining his head toward the Ravager. Wade watched, bored by the formalities.
"I hate to disturb you, but I felt you might want to know…Gotham has, unfortunately, noticed the disruption we caused; they're going to be sending the authorities over to investigate."
Wade mused for a moment, and then shrugged to show that he wasn't concerned in the slightest.
"Very well. Announce that we're going to be taking off soon. They can't possibly follow us, where we're going."
Julius bowed his head again to show that he understood his orders, and was preparing to leave, when an awful idea occurred to Wade.
"Actually, Julius," the Ravager said slowly, as a wicked smile crossed his lips. "Before you do that, I've got another idea. Let's go and visit that red-headed alien girl, eh? I think I want to talk to her…"
-partners-
Rivers of red, torrents of blood gushing over his palms and staining them an awful crimson; the expression on the young boy's face, as he stared blankly up into the eyes of his father, while the red poured from his throat. Addie was shrieking somewhere in his ear to, "do something!" …First Grant, his eldest child…now Joseph…
Though the mask, painted so that the eerie contrast of orange and black had a way of haunting the minds of his adversaries and victims, concealed the face beneath it, Slade was indeed scowling, as he stared down at the miserable reflection that the water below offered up to him. It was the first time that he'd found himself loathing the outfit that he'd so carefully selected and been, astoundingly, proud of throughout the many years of his life.
All because of some damned child.
Robin had never meant anything to him in the beginning; he'd simply seen the boy as some obstacle to be removed from his way, and then later a tool to be used to his own advantage...a tool that would maim the teenager's otherwise spotless reputation, and the pride that the Batman felt from raising someone who was sure to grow up to be a legendary hero—and also, quite possibly, Slade's very downfall.
But now…whenever he looked at that cursed teen, whenever he struck him, or attempted to frighten him, he always saw two other faces leering out from behind the Boy Wonder's own…two other pairs of eyes, staring in shock at him. Perhaps that was why he made a point of trying to beat Robin as hard as he could—because his very presence reminded him so painfully of others he'd been struggling fruitlessly to forget.
...He would never be able to forgive himself nowadays, should he hurt merely one spiked hair atop Batman's prodigy's head, and how he hated knowing it. Slade had truly forgotten what a nuisance a conscience could be…
…Had he also forgotten what it felt like to care about another's life? It seemed as if the other identity he'd once led had lived an eternity ago, and had now faded into the distance, as the world turned, passed it by, left it behind…
Slade's thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the warehouse door behind him, and he straightened up from where he'd been leaning against the wall to face Robin.
The teenager was dressed in simple attire: A black shirt, whose sleeves he'd rolled up around his elbows, and sturdy, dark pants; he still had his utility defiantly slung about his waist, and he'd kept his boots and the mask…but at the very least, he wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Robin was also carrying two small bags that he'd stuffed with food and water, along with blankets, and a sweatshirt for himself. Slade noticed that the boy was regarding him with chilly silence.
"This is what I packed," the teen grumbled, and dropped the bags carelessly on the dock, and staring out at Jump City with a trace of sadness. "I left the weapons up to you."
"Good." Slade hesitated, unsure how to pose the next question. "I…I don't suppose you're willing to remove the mask—"
"If yours stays so does mine," Robin answered with bitter finality, ending the discussion right then and there. Slade didn't press the issue, but rather strode back inside to begin collecting tools and weapons.
It was as he was reviewing his final selections, and tossing some into another bag that Slade found the thermal blaster, lying dented and broken, in the corner.
Oh, no…
'I might even become like a father to you.'
Had he really said that?
Guilt reared up in his chest, as untamed and mindless as a wild horse might, taking full reign over his mind, senses, and heart.
—Adeline, Grant Joseph, betrayal, lies, deception, death, murder—
It was an unbelievably powerful mental blow to Slade's already frail self-confidence, and he found himself taking a step backwards to balance himself. It was no surprise that Robin had been exceptionally enraged when he'd emerged from the warehouse—but why should that bother him? Did it disturb him? Was it supposed to? He hadn't cared less about what the boy might think or feel towards him—did he still? Why was it different now? Or was anything different?
Slade was so puzzled by now, and so wrapped up in the chaos of his own thoughts, that he might have been carried off by them if not for the violent scream of utter fear that pierced through them, jolting him back into reality. And then, Robin's own yell of anguish following it.
"STARFIRE!"
To be Continued…
Wow! Long chapter this time around—well, long compared to what I've been posting recently. Hope this was good for you guys; I've been feeling in the writing mood again (because, between you guys and myself, this is the first time in months that I've actually felt extremely creative, and free from the burdens of writer's block. Maybe it has something to do with this CD I found recently…Ah, who knows?) Shockingly, I'm feeling up to a challenge, so I'll tell you what: I am going to try to update twice on "Scars of the Past" this week, and you can all come and have a turn whacking me around like a piñata if I don't. See you guys around soon!
Later!
Rebel