Prisoner of Memories chapter 9.

Yeah, I so need to update more. Sorry. Thanks to Nightwriter222 ,(for the excellent idea) FeatherHeart, and XxxComicsGurlxxX . Also, thanks to everyone who reviewed politely asking for an update. I know I haven't exactly been super-active, but thank you for sticking with the story anyway. Some Foul language (F-bombs) and kinda violent at ppoints.

Robin ducked to the floor as a blunt club missed him by an inch. The skinny guy dressed in brown was not as weak as he looked, especially due to the fact that he had been able to run away from the tide of youths so fast. The man did a backflip off the wall of the tiny storeroom and managed to knock Robin off his feet with the momentum of a double-footed kick. This fazed him a bit, but the vigilante had been through a lot worse, especially with Two-Face, so he was sure he could take this just fine. Grabbing his attacker's tunic as he closed in on him, Robin yanked as hard as he could and then ducked again; the skinny waif was hurled headlong into a shelf of metal food containers.
After he'd swatted away the pans and pots, Robin finally got a good look at his attacker, who appeared to be unconscious from a wok to the head.
The man couldn't have been more than about 27, because he still had some of the lanky frame belonging to adolescence. Upon closer inspection, the hemp tunic he was wearing seemed to have been hastily sewn together from a couple of sacks, and the bandana around his face was just a small red cloth. His hair was blond, shorn short and awfully familiar. Suddenly Robin thought of Maureen; he fervently hoped she had found a sensible place to hide until all of this blew over. Being back here was tough enough, but if his being here had inadvertently caused her death or serious injury, that would be the straw that broke the camel's back. As he slowly unwound the red cloth, being careful to avoid the darker red blood spattered on his face and flowing from his nose, a horrible thought struck him. That jawline and razor-cut bleached blond hair…were very, very familiar. They'd haunted his nightmares here for weeks and still occasionally did so now, caused him to bury his face in the blankets and even cry out in his sleep. He pulled off the rest of the scarf and gaped in shock and horror.

It couldn't be him. The last Robin or anyone else heard of Zean, he had been arrested in Bludhaven for robbing a bank to fund his drug habit. So why, why then was he here, back in Juvenile Detention Centre where it all began? As a last ditch attempt, Robin looked at Zean's eyes, trying to convince himself that it wasn't him, it wasn't the man who tormented him and broke his bones.
He gasped. Reality shook him hard as he saw the cold, merciless blue-grey eyes that he knew he would never forget. They were dead, without mercy, like a shark's. He heard a pounding in his head and felt light-headed when he made another deduction.

If he could see the colour of Zean's eyes… then the man wasn't as unconscious as he'd thought. It was all he could do to hold onto his consciousness as he slid down the wall, shocked

. Zean stood up and raised the club again, bringing down a spiked end Robin could see growing larger and larger in his vision as it got nearer and nearer. He cringed away from the unavoidable blow…

Meanwhile, a certain speedster was zipping around the different wings of the prison, trying to locate the inmates. He'd checked in all of the wings so far except one, and thankfully some of the younger prisoners (or the ones with more common sense, anyway,) had taken one look at the little riot and scampered back to their cells. The automatic locking system meant they would be relatively safe in there anyway. Wally caught sight of a bunch of tough, burly prisoners trying to force their way into one of the senior wardens' offices. The poor woman inside seemed to have fainted; this was one of the areas of the facility prisoners were barred access to, so seeing five or six angry thugs trying to barge in wouldn't exactly be expected.

Quickly, Kid Flash catalogued where all of the attackers were and worked out a plan to take them all down with the least damage to both them and him. Two point three four nine milliseconds later, he charged.

One of the smaller thugs took a swift uppercut to the jaw, whilst the three medium-sized beefcakes gawped. He took one of them out with a karate kick to the solar plexus and simply punched the other ones in the face before slamming their heads into the wall. The larger thug…

He gulped. This guy was so built, he looked like he could beat Superboy in an arm wrestle. Of course, Wally knew that was impossible, but it sounded cool to imagine. Halfway through constructing an imaginary scene whereupon Superboy was smashing up a table in response to losing, Wally realised the thug still needed to be taken down.

As the older guy charged, the speedster grabbed hold of a pipe on the wall and used it for leverage, swinging his legs around it to avoid the collision. He tucked up into a ball and bled the momentum out. They were now in the same places they'd been in before, but they'd swapped positions and Kid Flash now had the advantage. He hammered his fist down on the guy's collarbone at superspeed, wincing as an audible crack emanated from the impact. The assailant swore at him angrily before running off to lick his wounds.

He turned to the senior warden and checked her pulse. She was still unconscious but seemed to be okay otherwise.

Small feet pound frantically down hallways and corridors, scared blue eyes blown wide with adrenaline and fear. A truncheon is almost dropped from small, trembling hands. It is recovered, nimble hands not even missing a beat.

M'gann drifted. She was still trapped in her own safety-net, which had sprung up again even stronger. It was vaguely tinted a lime green colour, and every time Connor or Kaldur attempted to reach her through it, they flinched and shivered. The Martian was not aware of this. She was trapped in a world of grotesquely stretched smiles and creepy-crawlies, haunting echoes of memories, mistakes and fears. She saw the Martian wars from the perspective of a small child, she saw a myriad of violence and injury being inflicted by her own hand as glass and broken bodies flew around her.

She screamed in enjoyment as fire raged around her; tears of laughter cascaded down her face as the lifeblood slowly left the two people at her feet. With a surprised snarl, she realised she had been stabbing them. Her weapon was… M'gann felt bile rise up in her throat – the weapon in her hand was a long, curved human rib. Another scream ripped its way out of her vocal cords, simultaneously with a mental torrent of agony and fear.

Kaldur'ahm was not aware of any of this. There were still traces of the gas seeping out of the pipe in the ceiling, and they had been forced to retreat, leaving M'gann in the sanctity of her protective bubble. From the outside, she seemed to be lightly sleeping, tossing and turning every now and then, murmuring strange noises and clicks in a strange language that the Atlantean assumed to be Martian. Conner didn't seem to be doing much better, but at least he was fully conscious. He growled in frustration and punched a wall. It was obvious that the clone wanted to go, to run and to help the others but he was torn between his need to vent his anger and conflicting desire to stay protecting M'gann.

The blow never came. As Robin tentatively looked around, he spotted the spiked club. It lay about a meter and a half away on top of the remnants of a collapsed shelf. Zean was groaning underneath one of the other shelves, pinned to the ground. He was unable to move and clearly knew this, for the glare emanating from his eyes rivalled Superman's heat vision. And in the corner of the room, thin wiry arms trembling, with a loose grip on one of the warden's truncheons, was Jason.

"Jay!" The smaller boy grinned, but the smile looked more like a grimace. It was slipping off his face fast, tears welling up in his eyes. Before Robin could say anything, his arms were full of clingy juvenile delinquent, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay, I'm fine, and you did a good job." Jason didn't let go. Zean moved his arm slightly, recoiling at the jolt of pain he received. At this small movement, Jay flinched violently back into Robin. He looked to be scared stiff of their opponent despite his state of consciousness. "Jason." He didn't move, didn't release his hold on tensed up muscles throughout his body.

"Jay. Jason, look at me." Scared blue eyes met Robin's own, and the panic and raw fear in them took the vigilante's breath away. "It's okay. He's trapped. Look, that shelf has him pinned." Fast, shallow breaths slowly gave way to deeper, slower inhales. A loud clatter echoed as the truncheon fell from his hand. Jason shuddered and hauled himself back into reality.

"Silva?"

"Jason. Jay, oh I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you had to see that, to do that." Robin knew this kid wasn't innocent; he was in a juvenile delinquent centre. But he was only guilty of theft and had probably never seen someone about to get killed, never had to resort to that sort of violence. Heck, Jason had seen his fair share of life's bullshit. But still…

A small sob, followed by a final sniff and lots of trembling was muffled into the acrobat's shoulder. All 'Silva' farce had dropped. Robin was himself again. It scared him to think about how he'd totally retreated into his disguise. Jay looked at him curiously, as if he were detecting the change in charisma. He coughed awkwardly and extracted himself from Robin's embrace.

"I'm okay." Another deep breath. "I can do this." He looked up at the older boy before glancing at the semi-conscious form of Zean. "Wow. I really got him good, didn't I?" A breathy, still slightly panicked laugh escaped his lips, and he looked up again for reassurance.

"Yeah." This kid was like a mirror. It was like seeing himself after he'd saved Zucco. There was more jubilance and anger in the younger inmate, but apart from that Robin felt as if he were looking into the past. "Let's go. We've gotta go find the others." He was suddenly embarrassed; he'd run off after the masked man without telling anyone where he was going or even making a plan.

"Aw man, your friends are booooring," Jason drawled, seemingly recovered "And that violent chick, Amelie or something? She's scary as fuck, man."

Artemis. Emily. Where was she? Kaldur was getting worried.

He had a right to be. The girl in question was stuck in a corridor, surrounded by inmates, addicts judging by their gaunt pallor and almost undetectable needle-marks.

One of them raised a crowbar. Another rolled up his sleeves, and the burliest girl she'd ever seen (she was built like Superboy on steroids! With a pointed hat like that of a witch) cracked her knuckles. "The boss is gonna want to have a little fun with this one. Put her with the others."