Disclaimer: Doing the housekeeping of stating that I do not own the Robin, Slade or the Titans and Justice League. But I do own Durin and Kumi, they're mine. So ha!
A/N: Ok, I'm here once again. Squeezing this chapter in before I go run off and do other stuff. Happy Halloween everyone!!! Eat lots of candy!!!
So yeah, I don't know if I should leave Robin's criminal outfit like this or if I should change it. Right now, he's still borderline like me. I like this new outfit, but just don't be surprised if I change it. Oh! And let me know if it gets confusing when I change from Robin to Seir! Ok, I'm done blabbering. To the story!
Ch. 3: Bored
The black/gray figure that last night had beaten and left Red X a bloody heap on a random roof walked purposely through the decorated hallway. The hideout was an abandoned upper class mansion that was built oddly enough underground. It seemed that after the bombing of London during WWII, the owner decided not take any chances and began to recreate his old house under his new one. Sadly, the owner passed away, his final act signing the lease over to a certain trio that had just moved into London.
Lowering the hood, black gloves pulled the all black ski mask off the head. Raven locks flopped down in a mess. With a quick shake of the head, the hair fell back into its normal spiked position. Cracking his knuckles, the figure continued its long walk through the maze of dimly lit halls. He was supposed to be on vacation, at least that's what his master had prescribed. But a couple days into it and he got bored, fast. So, the training started.
Martial Arts
Boxing
Computer hacking
Endurance training
You name it; he had done a session or two in it. Stretching his back, the boy kept walking. With all the training, he had begun to get restless. He need action, he needed to be in the center of a brawl. Thankfully, his master noticed it and allowed the boy to get his little adrenaline fixes. Yet, since he was still on 'vacation', he couldn't do anything big. But, he was creative and his master still wanted the transition to be slow.
A cold smirk lit his face with a dark glee, the crystal twirling in his hand. The solution to getting his fixes that satisfied both him and his master was to steal from thieves. Let the thief do all the hard work and all he had to do was catch the thief off guard and steal the gem from him. Red X had been his fifth victim, each one being complete different from the last. The smirk disappeared from his face, an angry glow lighting his dark blue eyes. What he hated though was how each of the criminals thought he was some superhero trying to stop them. His fist enclosed around the diamond, squeezing it with his rage. He wasn't a hero: that part of him died long ago. No, he wanted nothing to do with heroes or their petty ideals. Being a hero meant being played and he was sick of being played.
Percolating his negative emotions of rage, sick joy and taste for blood, the criminal reached the main chamber. Dark blue eyes shifted to their original piercing blue, brightening in anticipation at seeing an old man. The elder man stood silently in the hall and awaited his arrival with a silver tray in his hand.
"Hello, Wintergreen." The voice was slightly deep with a British chirp to it.
Wintergreen nodded, "Excellent imitation, sir. The paper and your snack."
A boyish smirk revealed his glee, "Ah, Wintergreen, you didn't need to. Raspberry tea cake, Slade is going to kill both of us when he finds out you've been spoiling me."
A chuckle arose from the man, "Well, Seir. You deserve it, considering it is your longest streak of thefts without getting caught yet."
Seir raised the cake in a toast-like manner, "What can I say, they're all too slow to keep up with me." Finishing the cake in one bit, Seir grabbed the paper and continued on his way.
Wintergreen turned to go back to his chores, "Slade is in the main chamber, looking over some documents."
Seir nodded before coughing. Wiping his mouth clean of crumbs, Seir began to sprint down the hall, his eyes flickering from the hall to the paper. Oh Slade was going to love this.
Reaching the main chamber in record time, Seir skidded to a halt outside before entering. The main chamber was a large vast chamber, with some stairs leading up to little rooms. Above was a valuated ceiling, making the acoustics in the place perfect. In the center, was Slade leaning over his desk, paperwork strewn about. Seir made his way quietly to the desk, fiddling the newspaper in his hand.
"What is it, apprentice?"
"I've got some good news."
"Tell me the bad first."
Seir tilted his head and frowned, "I don't have bad—"
"Everyone has bad news in some form."
"Fine." Seir propped his elbows on the table and stared down at the paperwork. "I won't steal those."
Slade raised his eye to take in his apprentice.
Seir locked his gaze with him, "That's my bad news."
The mastermind went back to stare down at the work, but Seir could tell that the man had found it amusing. Looking down, Seir took a much closer look at the weapons Slade would need if he ever where to build this device. Memories began to surface of him shivering on a cold, metal bench reading over the blueprints for his latest steal of a military weapon.
"…Apprentice…"
Slade's voice pulled Seir out his reverie. The criminal watched as life sparked once more in those dull eyes.
"Just thinking about another life…"
The elder man waited for a continuation, but Seir only shook his head.
"Sorry about that Slade."
"It is alright, Seir. Your old lives as Robin and Dimitry will always haunt you."
Seir, once known as the great Robin the Boy Wonder, gazed at his master, the man who shown him the truth in the dark. He had heard something in the man's voice that was like Slade knew what he was going through from personal experience.
Slade cleared his throat and stood straight. "What is that you wish to show me?"
Seir chuckled, "This." Spinning the newspaper on the table, he waited as Slade read the article.
"Well, it seems that your vacation has been cut short. You must be vigil at all times now. Not only the Titans but the Justice League and Batman will be searching for you."
"Sounds like fun to me." Seir sensed Slade's annoyance at his sarcastic remark, but he didn't care. He might have changed his name, but Robin's cockiness was very much still a part of him and sometimes it liked to sneak out and play.
Slade sighed and resumed his work, "Just don't get yourself killed."
Seir laughed, "Why Slade you made a joke once again."
Slade hissed something but Seir could not pick it up. Turning around, he made his way to his room, whistling. Today had been a good day.
The mastermind waited till his apprentice was gone and waited another fifteen minutes before turning his focus back on the newspaper. Picking it up, he studied the article. Even after the months since the pair had left the eastern part of Europe, he didn't think his apprentice was ready to face his old comrades. Yet, on the bright side, at least he was in control of the situation. To no one really, except to the shadows on his lair, Slade whispered out the headline the editors had pinned to his unanimous article.
Is he gone?
Robin the Boy Wonder shot in the chest, his condition as to whether he is alive or dead unknown; criminal responsible still at large.
What fools.
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Seir swung open the door to his room. Pulling off his clothes and throwing his costume onto the queen sized bed, the teenager made his way into the shower. When his training began, Slade had wanted him to wear the tight Kevlar outfit that his Robin and Apprentice outfits were made off. Seir could understand why, tight clothes were easier to maneuver in and less likely to be grabbed by. But when he slide back into one of those outfits, it just felt wrong. He had grown use to the openness of the military uniform he wore during the civil war. The Kevlar restricted him…on more than just the level of physical closeness of it. It brought back memories of a life that at first he was guilty of leaving but now hated with a dark passion. Having such memories and emotions plaguing him out during a mission would be bad,
After spending a quick twenty minutes in the hot shower, the ex-hero jumped out and quickly dried off. Old habits die-hard and one he was trying to kill was taking short showers with cold water. Out in the field, they were forced to bath in the ice-cold river water, only heating up water for tea or the wounded. His body had become sensitive to hot water and after twenty minutes, he felt like he was getting burned. A frown that was on the verge of becoming permanent sprung forth from the shadows. There were many things he wanted to break apart from, but knew that it would take months even years to break some of the habits he had picked up in the war. The location might have changed, but to Robin sometimes, he felt that he was still trapped back in the desolate places of Eastern Europe. So much of himself died back there. Wishing to drive his mind away from the depressing train of thought, Robin wiped away the steam from the mirror. Turning to the side, he examined the long scar on his back.
Every now and then, he would look at it to make sure that all this was not an illusion and to remind him of the hell, he just left. Making his way to stand fully in front of the mirror, Robin halted, a drawn look encompassing his eyes.
1318666.
The number was branded onto his upper arm gleamed black in the light. Knowing what they stood for, an inhuman smile slithered to life on his face. At first he wanted to get them removed through laser surgery. They were a remaindered of the horrors he lived through, the actions he did to keep sane during the war.
But now, those numbers defined him, made him the cocky, cold-hearted thief, assassin-in-training that he was today. Giving himself a curt nod at the tattoo, Robin finished his turn and faced the mirror. The teenager leaned forward and stared hard into his eyes. He hadn't left that place without gaining another reminder.
Light Blue.
Dark Blue.
Black.
Light Blue.
Black.
Dark Blue.
Light Blue.
Tilting his head once more, Robin watched as his eyes turned into a darker shade of blue. While his vision was still twenty-twenty, the blast that had rocked the base when the League of Shadows attacked had burned the surface of his eyes lightly. His original light blue was still dominant but when he tilted his head a certain way, the light would bounce off the burns, giving him another shade.
Robin's first reaction was of disgust. Everything at first when he entered civilization once more evoked some negative response in him. But, after a few weeks, he thought his eyes were kinda cool. Even when, he was running around without a mask, people wouldn't be able to pinpoint his eye color.
In a deep voice, Robin chuckled, "Booyah."
Finishing up, he dressed himself in a loose pair of jeans and a hoodie. Snuggling deep into the dark blue hoodie, Robin sniffed in the sweet smell of cleanliness. He never thought in a million years that that smell would make his body relax. No longer did he wear blood soaked clothes caked in the grim of a battlefield. The teenager ruffled his hair, smirking as it slides into an almost spiky appearance without the usage of gel. Padding into his room, Robin flopped onto his bed, a laptop bouncing next to him. Soon after he logged on, two familiar faces popped on screen.
"Yo, look who's on! About time, I'm bored to death here." Durin's whiny complaint echoed silently in the room. The young hacker's blond hair had grown out, becoming a mop on his head.
"Oh, please Durin. You're a hyperactive little brat on the verge of the teenage years. Anything longer than fifteen minutes will get you bored." Kumi's sarcastic remarked earned him a death glare from Durin.
"Well, look whose talking Mister A Girl a week person."
"Oie! No talking about my love life, you haven't even had your first yet!"
"I'm too young!"
Robin leaned back into the bed, his arms cushioning his head. Staring up at the ceiling, he took in the faded painting of Lucifer's fall from heaven. Why someone would want to put such a painting on a ceiling, he didn't know. But one thing was for sure, it was painted in such a way that it would scary the living daylights out of the average person. Yet, Robin wasn't the average person and the picture depicting the fierce battle felt more like home out on the field.
Home.
Closing his eyes, Robin repressed a sigh. What was home? No longer was it Jump City or Titans Tower and its occupants. For a while, he began to consider the front lines as his home. And now…would he consider London as his home? Shaking his head mentally, Robin refuted that statement. Puzzled over the simple statement that people would ask him, "Where is your home?" he would freeze. Getting aggravated that such a sentence could cause so much grief, Robin had asked Slade the same question one night.
"What is my home?"
Slade eyed him from across the table. If the question affected Slade in any manner, he didn't know. A fraction of a minute later, the mastermind responded, "Our kind do not have the luxury of having a home."
Robin opened his eyes, staring up once again at the painting. The voice of his mother long gone whispering in his mind, "Home is the place your heart and soul yearn for."
Did he have such a place anymore? Robin had shed himself of types of bonds, too many to count. He knew he still had some, but which ones those were he didn't know anymore. His transformation had happened in such a blurry state, he could barely remember what happened. Frowning, he wanted to ponder the question more when Kumi's voice boomed over the speaker.
"Hey, Seir, you there?"
Robin propped himself on his elbows and stared at the screen, "You two done bickering?"
Durin smiled playfully, "Of course."
Kumi sneered, "Anyway, I've got a proposal for the both of you. I need some help stealing some sensitive information. It's a tough job, so I thought that maybe you two can aid me and partake in some of the spoils."
"Like what our masters do for each other?" Durin's simple sentence shifted the atmosphere of the conversation. Each of their masters were bound by a treaty that required each of them to help each other when one called for it. To accept this proposal from Kumi would mean that their friendship had taken on a more business like style and would affect how they interacted in the future.
"Yes." Kumi's voice was soft, knowing how important the topic was.
Durin shrugged, "Sure."
Kumi smiled, "Thanks, Durin." The dark-skinned man turned his attention to Robin, whom he knew would be the harder to convince.
Robin narrowed his eyes, "Shouldn't we ask our masters first?"
"They won't mind," laughed Durin, "Come on, Seir, you went behind Master Deathstroke's back a million times."
A small frown wanted to tug at his lips, but Robin repressed the urge. Yes, Robin once disobeyed Slade, and he usually ended up beaten and near death. Nowadays though, the man had begun to trust and respect him more and more and Robin didn't want to damage that alliance.
"I'll think about it."
Kumi leaned forward, "It's in Gotham City."
Robin felt his heart tug, a strange flutter of emotions rising in him. Narrowing his eyes, the teenager took in Kumi's face. He knew that the man would think that by bringing up Gotham City would win him over, but Robin was no longer a blind fool.
"I said I'd think about it," replied Robin in a stern voice, before shifting back to his joking self, "So long, you old bickering couple."
With that, he slammed the laptop shut. Taking in a deep breath, Robin laid the laptop on the floor and once again crashed on the bed. Tossing for a couple minutes, the former Boy Wonder gave up finding a spot. Grabbing a pillow and single sheet, he slide down onto the cold, thin carpeted floor. Huddling up against the wall, he stuffed the pillow into the nook of his arm and draped the sheet over his form as if it was a coat. In his mind, Robin found himself in the cold, hard dirt floor of a trench, his back leaning against the fragile wall of mud. The smell of dirt filled his nostrils, the cold barrel of his rifle resting on his shoulder. The coat of a deceased soldier served as a pillow as his own served as a blanket. Far off in the distant, he could hear the random sputters of bullets pelting elsewhere. A soft artic wind gently stabbed his face with the tiny prickles of snow.
It was this imagery that lulled Robin's mind into a deep, restful sleep instead of the once happy image of a certain group of superheroes.
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A/N: I am having way too much fun writing Dark Robin and Slade. This could be bad considering I don't get this excited when I write about the Titans. But, thankfully I kept the robot Robin, so I might start getting excited with writing those chapters too. I just can't believe I'm writing 7 page chapters. Sheesh, I should slow down and make them short so this story can last longer. Hehehehe.
