Title: While You Were Gone
Author: Xilvrin***
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: none for this chapter
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Static Shock or DC comics, they belong to their specific creators/DC/Warner Bros. I make no profit, this is only fanfic for fun.

***EXTRA DISCLAIMER: Huge chunks of dialogue were taken directly from the Terror Titans comic for Virgil's part of this chapter. I will tell you which at the end. So all credit for that goes to SEAN MCKEEVER, the writer of that comic. (Please do go buy the Terror Titans graphic novel, you can easily find it at bookselling sites like )

Chapter 5

DAKOTA HIGH SCHOOL, 4TH PERIOD

Richie frowned at the empty desk in front of him. Virgil was meant to be there, turning to look at him, elbow propped on the top of the chair backing, big bright smile across his face. Richie traced the backing with the dried-up eraser of an old chewed-on number 2 pencil. It was the rare seat that wasn't covered in graffiti or with gum wads jammed into its corners. 'Where are you? Why aren't you HERE?'

English was the one class Virgil had better grades the super-genius in... Richie's mind was hardwired for the math and sciences, not poetry.

The teacher was convinced that his straight-A student had dropped out. "And I assume Mr. Hawkins continues to suffer from senior-itis?" He snarked over the common problem of 12th graders no longer putting effort into their schoolwork with graduation around the corner.

Richie spoke up, "That makes no sense. The suffix -ITIS means 'inflammation of' ... senioritis would be inflammation of the senior, not avoidance of educational duties.

"The second definition is 'a weariness of a preoccupation with; used in nonce words', hence Mr. Hawkin's malaise over his final year of public schooling. It's sufficient for Webster's dictionary, not for you?" the educator tapped his pointer on his palm.

Richie held one finger to his ear and whispered, "Backpack. Definition. 'Nonce Word'. The communication/surveillance robot relayed the message remotely to a tiny hearing aid like device he'd installed in his earring (one of the many innovations he'd come up with in his Virgil-less free-time). This way he could get answers or pick up police radio transmissions to rush of, change into costume, and save the day. Or... if need be... best his teachers. It wasn't REALLY cheating, he figured, as he'd invented backpack with his advanced brain and went on to use it as an extended set of senses- a second brain outside his body. "Ah," he said outloud, "but a NONCE WORD is a word coined for a singular occasion, not an officially recognized word from the dictionary."

"Perhaps YOU would like to teach the class today."

"All right, I WILL," the dweeby teen stood up and sauntered over to the chalkboard.

The balding man with a bad combover sat down in his office chair, crossing his arms. "Impress me."

'Anything to take my mind off Virgil,' Richie thought, chewing on his lower lip. He prepared to lead the class in discussion on the novel they were reading with help of the outline and notes the stuffy teacher left on his desk.

DARK SIDE CLUB

They did eventually come for Static. He didn't know how much time has passed between Fever's last hurrah and now. His body was limp, resigned to his fate. The silver-men dragged him off to Bernadeth's lab: a library-like room in the Clock King's pocket dimension.

The cobalt blue round room brought his thoughts back to the clock tower in Dakota. Clock tower themed columns held the high ceiling up, their faces all pointing to three o'clock just like the lenses of the clock King's glasses. The middle of the room was sunken area taken up a large heavy bronze gear-shaped table, on top of which were two glass cylinders full of a bubbling bubble-gum pink liquid. Tubes from these cylinders connected to 70's-style headphones worn by the blankly staring mutant teens. They sat in chairs with gear-shaped backings with gear-shaped restrains on their wrists. They spewed the regular nonsense: "Chaos is order", "Violence is beauty", "Sacrifice is honor", "Death is release".

Gear... glasses... clocktower... brainwashed...

"Rich," he mumbled.

"Yes, you'll make us very rich," Bernadeth replied coldly, putting her hand to her chin.

THAT NIGHT

"Ladies! Gentlemen! Everyone Else! Welcome tot he Darkside Club!" the loudspeaker announced. The people in the stands cheered. "We have an epic showdown for you tonight! Breaking from the tournament for this one-time special megabout is our newest crowd favorite- three time winner RAVAGER!" The white haired young woman in question did her stretches with a bland expression on her ruby red lips. She rolled her head from side to side, "...facing down the one meta no one thought they'd see gain... the reigning DarkSide champion", twisted her back this way and that, "Here he comes!", and went down on one knee then the other, "This is it folks! ...It's the Ruthless Ravager...". She paid the announcer little attention as he rambled on, only getting up when the door on the far side of the arena began to raise. "Versus the shocking STATIC!"

She drew both swords from their scabbards strapped to her back. He flew in, crouched on his disc, fists clenched and crackling with light. She took a fighting stance. He unleashed half of his pent-up fury from one hand. The ground exploded beneath her, debris rocketing into the air. KZZHT! His next attack actually shattered one of her blades. The shards ended up lodged into her chainmail and head covering. She screamed in pain, falling to her side.

"UP 'TIL NOW, RAVAGER'S PRECOGNITION HAS KEPT HER JUST BARELY A STEP AHEAD OF STATIC... BUT THE FUTURE'S NOT LOOKING QUITE SO CERTAIN ANYMORE FOR OUR NEWEST FEMME FATALE!"

"God, I wish they'd toss the emcee in here," she groaned.

She had only seconds before Static expelled both handfuls of electricity to the ground again and again. She did her best to backflip out of the way, narrowly missing the crooked tendrils of light around her. "WHAT AGILITY FOLKS! AND YET-" She made it all the way to the upper half of the curved stadium wall. She pushed back off it much like a swimmer doing laps. She launched herself toward her opponent. "WHOA, SHE'S GOING FOR IT! THIS COULD BE THE END!"

Her orange gloved fist connected with his cheek but AT THE SAME TIME his electrified fist connected with her knee. KZZZ-ZAKKKT! He was knocked off his disc while she was thrown several feet, skidding in painfully face-first.

"AND RAVAGER'S DOWN!"

Unlucky for her, Static got to his feet first.

"HOW ABOUT SOME DARK SIDE CLUB SIZED APPLAUSE FOR-" The announcer was ready to call the match but upon further observation of the lit-up ring, he stammered, "WAIT...WHAT'S HE-? OH NO, NOT AGAIN!"

They'd pumped him so full of drugs, the hypnotized Static couldn't help himself. "Kill...KILL!"

"He's *SKRKK SLRR* ...all the juice *SKRAKT RAKT* WHOLE PLACE *SKRRRRRKT* EVERYONE PLEAZZZZ *ZKRTKT*" the loudspeakers were on the fritz.

Static was in the mindset to destroy everyone and everything around him. Ravager tried to talk him down. "Take it easy now, guy... there's no need to go off and kill all those people..." as if she had room to talk. Back when her father was manipulating her (yes, Slade was her father) she had done her share of killing and maiming of badguys. It was partially that which brought her here... not quite fitting in anywhere else, skating a fine line between... not quite a villain, not quite a hero.

The crowd looked up nervously at the streams of neon blue dancing overhead.

For a moment, he snapped out of it. "Huh?" he turned his head. "This again?" It was short-lived, as awareness was replaced with anger. "I SWEAR I TOLD YOU MORONS," he bathed himself in pure white light, deciding to bring down the house anyway. "YOU. CAN'T. CONTROL. ME!"

"Fire! Do it now!" Desaad, the DarkSide club chairman that looked like a used car salesman, instructed the silver men with tranquilizer guns. Multiple darts were shot into static's arm and neck.

"No... y'can't..." he fell.

Ravager sat crosslegged by the unconscious teen boy, catching her breath. This was in no way a fair fight, she thought. Their abilities didn't match up. She shook her fist at where the Clock King watched behind protective layers of bulletproof glass in his VIP box. She'd have words with him later.

BACK IN HIS CELL

More days, possibly weeks, passed. He was once again locked up and sedated in his room.

One day or night there was more commotion than usual. Doors were being flung open. Including his. The snowy-locked yet young woman was in his room.

"It's you," he croaked. Ravager.

"JAILBREAK!" There was a fire in her one blue eye (the other being concealed, pirate-style).

"Why? Whose side are you on?" He had to wonder as she disconnected the tubes he was hooked up to and helped him sit up.

"Same side I've always been. My own." She smirked. She withdrew a small object from her pocket: an inhaler. "Here."

"I don't have asthma."

"It's adrenaline. You'll need to wake up fast if you feel like taking the chairmen on AND escaping."

"I haven't been given a lot of reasons to trust folk 'round here."

"Suit yourself."

"You don't care either way, eh?"

"Not really."

He considered this. He decided to take it. One breath full was like ten cups of coffee. He was awake now for sure.

"We're under L.A. They'll be trying to get out through the lowest tunnels. Go to the end of the hall, turn right, another right... look for the shortest curved archway with pipes overhead and no lights. That's where the rats will be running."

"Thanks... but... what about Clock King and the Terror Titans?"

"They're MY Prey," she said with a scowl and a tone that let him know she was not to be trifled with.

"Good luck with that," he waved her off and set about in the opposite direction from where she was going.

Their panicked footfalls reached his ears soon enough. He was standing still. They were heading straight for him.

A familiar man in a cheap olive green suit took the lead. "He ruined it! That fool has ruined everything!"

"We're almost to the sewers." The bald dark skinned woman in a catsuit and mask said behind him. "We'll get away, Desaad. We'll get away and start again."

Static blocked the way, eyes aglow, juggling lightning. "Y'know, my head's a little fuzzy still... but I could SWEAR you said something unbelievably DUMB."

Bernadeth and the two silver men were behind Desadd and the nameless woman. All were speechless.

"Surprised to see me, I guess, huh? Understandable, what with all the JUNK you had me on."

Their eyes went wide in fear.

"Hey, you guys ever been TASERED before?" he jumped on his disk, flying over them, zapping them with enough juice to leave them twitching and drooling. "Cause that's just a tickle." With that, he was off, not wanting to spend one more second in this place than he had to.

"Nuhhh," Bernadeth moaned.

"Hey, don't thank me," Static said to the pile of baddies behind him, "Thank the chick who busted me out, woke me up, and told me the pass to head you all off at. You'll recognize her real easy. She's got white hair and an eyepatch."

He passed by the entrance to the ring. The ceiling had fallen in. Groups of teens were in a brutal fight. This was not for an audience; the seats were empty. Among the fray he spotted a redhaired, GREEN skinned girl in a white shirt, red suspenders, blue skirt, long blue cape, white gloves and blue boots. Miss Martian had kept good on her promise... she'd come back. The team of former DarkSide Club contestants were tangling the Terror Titans. They were winning but the Terrors were putting up a surpassingly tough fight.

Static joined the melee in progress. "Hey, Dreadbolt!" He singled out the muscular Terror Titan in navy and gold. "Meet lightning bolt!"

With a few injuries, but no casualties, they finally put a stop to the tenacious buggers. Persuader (axe girl), Copperhead (snake man) and Dread Bolt were back to back to back, tied together and hands bounds by a flattened and twisted length of pipe. Disruptor was missing but she hadn't gotten away... according to them Clock King had killed her himself. One of the newly freed metahumans went on a quick search for her body and found a charred corpse, just as they had described. What a way to go... even if she was an evil b**ch.

When it was all over Static walked over to his new favorite alien and extended his hand. She shook it and gave him a friendly smile. "Miss Martian? Name's Static. Not to gush, but I'm a big fan. You and the rest of the Titans. Uhh, anyway, thing I wanted to know is, I K. most of the DarkSide Club dudes, but... what happens now?"

"We go back to Titans Tower. I think you'll all want a bit of rest. We can sort it out from there"

"The REAL Teen Titans this time, right?"

She turned her head to the side like a confused puppy for a second. "Yes, the real ones."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, OK... I'm gonna have faith in you on that one."

"I won't let you down." another friendly smile, and then they began their short travel to San Francisco.

-
Author's note 5: This does it for Terror Titans. The portions of dialogue copied are everything from the Static Vs. Ravager fight, including a few sound effects. (Ravager freeing Static was alluded to, but not shown, I wrote the scene dialogue for that). Static confronting the DarkSide club chairmen was taken from the comic (changed "my noodles a little fuzzy" to "my heads still a little fuzzy" because the former just doesn't sound right!). Half of what Static says to Miss Martian (from "Miss Martian?" up till "What now?").