...

Four weeks had passed since he joined Medusa. From the moment he arrived at one of the CIA safe houses he was put through a series of rigorous tests. They wanted to know what skill he had. Everything from survival to languages was evaluated.

It quickly became apparent that he had a natural talent for linguistics. He picked up languages and dialects faster than anything they had seen before. They nurtured the ability within him.

When that was over he was sent to meet with Abbott again. Here he was given a new life and name. A frw weeks later he was still learning to answer to the name David. David Webb's third son of the Webb family.

His "parents" were good people who took in strays that the CIA brought in. They accepted him wholeheartedly and helped if he asked. Which wasn't often even when he was in the house.

Jacob Webb was the second son of the Webb family. Like his parents he accepted Dick. He tried to be the big brother that the younger never had. Dick accepted the man's presence in his life.

Gordon was the oldest. Unlike the rest of his family, he did not accept Dick. He looked at him with the same blankness that the Batfamily did. He did his best to ignore it however. A new identity was good and he didn't have to play nice with everyone. Besides he knew he wouldn't be there long.

His time with the Webbs was only a short couple of weeks. Long enough from him to get acclimated to them learning their personalities by heart. In doing so he was able to acclimate his new identity to fit in with them. Then he was returned to training. This time no longer in the United States. Instead they sent him to the Jungles of Tam Quam.

Training was no longer just solitary it was with his potential squad mates. There was not a single member there that was the same. Some came from France, England, or even Australia. Dick hadn't thought they got involved in the conflict this go around but yet here were some of their nationals. Using names was highly discouraged unless you were a trainer. Most went by a defining feature. For Dick that meant his baby blue eyes.

Their training was broken into two parts. The first being survival which he had no issue with. The second however he did have many many issues with. It was in how to kill. At first, Dick had refused. He wasn't a killer and not even Slade had been able to make him one. Abbot didn't give him a choice however. Either he learned to kill or he was put into intelligence. There was no way he would be able to last as a desk jockey.

Then the day came that he was given a choice. When he first was brought to the camp he thought he could do this. Every time he was given a gun his resolve was shaken. Even at paper targets he couldn't perform kill shots.

Dick should be able to do this. He should be able to shoot a fucking paper target. What in the world was wrong with him? Why was he failing? A small voice in the back of his mind said this was why his family rejected him. Why they didn't want him working as a vigilante anymore.

After the failed training with Conklin again, he sat in a tree. It overlooked their training camp. He was able to see everyone outside and it was difficult for them to see him.

A voice said from below him, "Webb, I need to see you for a moment."

When he looked down dread filled him. It was Abbott. Conklin had no doubt told him about his failure to kill. Would he kick Dick to the intelligence division? That would be a hard blow to his already destroyed sense of self.

With a sigh, he dropped down onto the grass. Unable to meet the man's eyes he looked over his shoulder.

Abbot sighed sounding far older than he looked, "I hear you are having trouble with shooting to kill. I thought you wanted to protect people. To be more than just a vigilante. You cannot do this if you are not willing to kill."

Dick's hands clenched at his side. He knew this. He had to do this. Protecting people was all he ever wanted. But how? How could he put aside everything he stood for?

Abbot sighed again, "If you cannot kill then you don't need to be here. I'll make the preparations to go to the Intelligence Division. Or the Webb's. They could get you into a good school. You can start a new life away from the world."

Damn it! No! He didn't want to return to Gotham. It would prove that he wasn't worth anything. That he couldnt save anyone. That he would only get people killed.

Before he could argue with Abbott the man said his eyes softening, "Or you can prove Conklin wrong. Throw away, Richard Grayson. As long as you are a member of Medusa you are not Richard or David Webb but a Medusan without a name. Now prove it," a gun was shoved into his hands.

For a moment Rex could only stare at it. Down the yard was the last set of targets. Only he and Abbott were out currently. Even if they weren't no one would pay him any mind.

He stared down at the weapon feeling its weight in his hands. The coolness of the metal made his heart twinge. Then it hardened.

A dark shadow fell over the younger's face. He pushed aside Rex and brought forth the darkness of his heart.

He raised the gun turning towards the range. Then he fired without any hesitation at all. His aim was true as the bullets hit once in the head and heart.

"It seems I was right about you then," finished Abbott.

Blue eyes began to turn a grey color. It was the color of a killer. Every true Medusan had at least some grey in their eyes. For the newest member, it was only the beginning. A small amount of grey that would eventually leave no blue to his eyes.