Disclaimer

Teen Titans is a registered trademark of DC Comics and Cartoon Network Inc. All trademarked characters, locations, themes and ideas are used without permission in a work of fan-created fiction. The following has been done without profit for purely entertainment purposes. All original concepts, characters, themes and ideas within are the copyrighted property of the author, and are not to be reproduced without his prior consent. Additional information used in creating Teen Titans: Adaptation is courtesy of Titans Tower Online.

"This is gonna be so awesome!" Tek squealed, and swung her plastic bags. They spun together, knocking into her knees. Colorful packages and rolls bulged in the bags, their colors blurring together. She watched the colors twirl with a giggle. "She is gonna flip," she said as she skipped down the sidewalk.

Cyborg caught her shoulder with his free hand before she skipped straight into the middle of a bustling intersection. His other hand steadied a long, flat box on his shoulder, with which he tried to avoid braining the other pedestrians waiting for the crosswalk to clear. "That's assuming Caltrans doesn't have to scrape you off the road before we get this junk home," he quipped.

"Sorry," Tek chirped, and stepped back from the curb. She bounced on her toes, rustling her bags, and exclaimed, "But this is so cool! We never get to have parties!"

Her smile got the better of him, wrestling its way onto his face. Cyborg shook his head as he pressed down on her shoulder, trying to still her bouncing. "I'm glad you're excited. Just don't explode, okay? You know how she feels about parties."

Tek scoffed. "Why do you think I'm getting so psyched? Somebody has to keep the fun alive. You should help me with that. Power down the negativity and initiate those funk subroutines, Vic!"

The light changed. The other pedestrians milling at the curb gave Tek and Cyborg a generous head start, letting them walk ahead. Cyborg watched Tek dance across the street, and laughed. "Okay, kid, okay. What's gotten into you, lately? Did Gar convince you to put sugar on your Lucky Charms again?"

She hopped onto the opposite curb and pirouetted, nearly bowling over a bald, heavyset man waiting for the bus. Her bags knocked her chest as she pointed to her smile. "See this? This indicates happiness. I am a happy camper. I camp happily. See my pup tent and roaring fire?"

"No, but I see a public menace." He caught her bags and lifted them out of her grasp.

She let the bags go willingly, and faux-fainted into the crook of Cyborg's elbow, staggering him. "I'm happy, you dork. I've got a handle on my brain, I've got good friends, and I've got balloons to blow up. What more could a girl want?"

He cradled her back to her feet. "How about being really cute and having super powers?" he said with a smirk.

Blush crept across Tek's cheeks. She took back her bags, and said, "Exactly. With all the crap our lives throw at us, why not enjoy the moment?"

"'Cause who knows how long it'll last?" Cyborg agreed, and followed her down the sidewalk at a more subdued gait.

Tek laughed and pushed the blush out of her face. "See, now that you said that, the world's gonna end tomorrow. Just one more excuse to party now…"

She froze in mid-step, jerking to a halt so suddenly that Cyborg almost flattened her by accident. He teetered, trying to balance the box on his shoulder without falling on her. Tek's bags dropped to the sidewalk, spilling rolls of crate paper onto the street.

Her gaze widened into the mouth of an empty alley. It sat between two downtown office buildings, hidden in the shadows of both. A dumpster sat against one wall, its lid rimmed with a slime best left uncomtemplated. A small, squat cement dock sat opposite the dumpster, with a nondescript door that had no handle. A handful of litter, the alley's only occupants, drifted across its stained concrete.

Tek's back erupted with blue-white light. Tendrils of alloy and components poured out from the light to smother her taut skin suit in white metal. Her armor grew around her until she towered in the mouth of the alley, blocking half its width with strength and fortitude to spare.

She screamed. The grille beneath her scowling visor made her cry reverberate. Her arms rose, splitting at the forearms to produce squat, strange cannons that glowed white with heat. The armor trembled with terror, preparing to whitewash the entire alley in a plasma hell storm.

"Tek!" Cyborg threw the box aside, ignoring the crunch of its contents. He lunged forward and shoved Tek's arms down. She stood limp as he blocked her from the alley, stopping her and shielding her at once. His sonic cannon pushed out from his hand to cast the empty alley in blue. But he saw nothing target-worthy.

The back of Cyborg's head veiled the alley from Tek's view. She shook her helmet, forcing herself to focus on him. "Wh…What? Cyborg? Vic, what happened? Why am I…?" She looked down and touched her armored chest. Her cannons' glow glistened in his metal skin.

Cyborg kept watch over the alley, his cannon low and at the ready. Behind him, Tek became a flurry of components and a brief blue light before dropping back to her skin suit's soles. He waited a moment more, cycling through every mode of vision he possessed, but the alley held nothing worth attacking. "You tell me, kid. You just went Jason Bourne on this empty hole. Did you see something?"

Tek rubbed her temples, wincing. "Nngh…No? No, I don't think so. I mean, there's nothing there."

His cannon mechamorphed back into an arm, which grasped Tek's shoulder in sympathy. "Must've been a happy overdose. Your body isn't used to feeling that good."

As they collected Tek's lost crate paper, she grimaced, and said, "I guess I'd better find some angst, stat."

"Pause."

Tek froze, squatting on the sidewalk, her face stuck awkwardly in half a grimace. Her hand stretched out toward nothing. Her crate paper had fallen behind the edge of the viewing monitor.

The meeting hall rang with the pensive consideration of six supremely powerful beings seated around its table. Each of them studied the image of the girl, weighing what they had seen with what they had been told. The fastest of them spoke first, loudly, and with the eloquence his peers had come to expect from him.

"So, that's it?" the Flash asked, and propped his feet on the conference table. "You're worried because some middle schooler in a body sock turns into Gigantor and menaces empty alleys?" He looked around with a sly grin, and said to the rest of them, "I think we should be more worried that Bats is sneaking around videotaping teenagers."

Cloaked in his cape, Batman scowled the Flash into silence. The Dark Knight stood beside the wall monitor, backed by the flickering freeze-frame of Tek. "As you can see, the girl is more than she appears," he said. His hand emerged from the folds of his cape to tap the screen. Its image rewound, and then froze again, this time on the visage of Tek's armor and glowing cannons.

"My sources have found the remnants of laboratories scattered across Europe and North America, each with equipment similar to or matching the readings I've taken off the girl's armor," Batman explained. "It's impossible to determine which of these labs, if any, she came from, but they all belong to the same person."

Superman leaned toward the screen. A glower creased his forehead. It was a look that had become all too familiar to the rest of the Justice League recently. Their cold war with Cadmus had weighed upon his brow for months, and now this new problem threatened to stretch the League even thinner. "Bruce, if this girl is what you say she is…"

"What manner of weaponry is that?" asked Wonder Woman. The glow of the cannons glinted in the tiara perched atop her lustrous dark hair. Her "They look familiar."

A green glare waded through the bright light of the screen to examine the cannons. "They're plasma," announced John Stewart, the Green Lantern of Earth. "Small, too. Probably a custom job, and way too advanced for anything homegrown. I would guess extraterrestrial."

"Well, that isn't really hard to find these days," Flash said. "You can practically get stuff like that at your local gas station."

Shayara Hol shook her head, bouncing her auburn hair behind a dirty look aimed at Flash. Her wings ruffled with annoyance as she said, "This doesn't look like a patchwork job."

"You're both right," Batman said. "I've analyzed the design, and found elements from at least half a dozen alien technologies that have been integrated together."

"This doesn't make sense," Superman insisted. "Why would he stick an amalgamation of weapons into a girl? And for what purpose?"

J'onn J'onzz, the Manhunter from Mars, leaned over the table with steepled fingers. He sat as a pillar of calm, quelling the debate with a sweep of his ominous red eyes. When he spoke, his voice resonated deeply, as though his words came from within each of them. "Forgive me, but isn't the nature of her abilities the secondary issue here? If what Batman claims is true, the girl represents a serious risk to everyone around her."

"Not just collateral," John said, "but every hero that goes near her as well. J'onn is right, we need to neutralize her as a threat before we start answering questions."

"Whoa," Flash exclaimed, rocking forward in his seat. "Neutralize? This isn't your typical robot super villain we're talking about. This one has a creamy kid center. You can't just—"

"She's not just a girl," Batman snapped, killing the retort on Flash's lips. The monitor behind him fell dark at his touch. "You saw for yourself. She's volatile, unstable, and a threat. She needs to be contained."

The room fell silent. A question circled the table, pressing upon each of the League's founders, pushing them away from their center. Squirming, Flash succumbed to the question first, giving it voice. "And then what? Do we 'contain' her forever?"

"We'll do what we have to," Batman told him.

Teen Titans
Adaptation

By Cyberwraith9

Lost Little Girl: Fugitive

"I'm in hell," Raven uttered.

She held up a tiny sailor suit, letting its wrapping paper fall into her bulbous lap. The little outfit smiled at her with the face of a cartoon duck on its miniscule chest. A chorus of cooing erupted around her, gushing over the outfit.

Queenie took the sailor suit from Raven. She held it to her chest, making it appear even smaller against her broad frame, which made even the couch look too small by comparison. "Isn't this the cutest thing you've ever seen?" she squealed, and passed the outfit to Rush.

Rush draped it across her arm. She smoothed the duck's smile, and said, "It is! Oh my God, the baby is just going to look darling in this. You can take her for stroller rides down the by pier and show her all the big boats!"

Snatching back the outfit, Raven tossed it onto the growing pile of clothes at the foot of the couch. She heaved a sigh that filled the room. "They can't all be the cutest. Eventually, one of them is going to have to be less cute than the last one. We're reaching the theoretical threshold of cuteness."

A pair of baby booties began waltzing lightly atop Raven's head. She grimaced, and endured the boots, knowing full well whose green fingers were inside of them. Behind her, Beast Boy tapped the booties over her twilight hair and said, "We're nowhere near that limit. And you'd better get used to it, 'cause this kid is just gonna keep getting cuter every day. Better build up a tolerance now while you can."

The Titans and Streetbeat laughed together as Raven swatted the booties off her head. Both teams had gathered in this newest room in the Habitat Wing of the Compound. It was two rooms knocked together without a dividing wall, a recent renovation of Cyborg's that stood largely empty at the moment. He had dragged up a few couches and tables for the baby shower. They, and a brand new crib with a dented corner, were the only features of the bare room.

Jason Hawke stepped back to take in the room. He felt the familiar stab of admiration and envy that pierced him every time he visited the Titans. Smoothing back his dirty blond hair, he said, "This is a hell of a space. You expecting a baby or a small aircraft?"

Cyborg chuckled and handed him a glass of punch from the table behind them. "The kid's gonna need some elbow room when he gets mobile. This'll be his nursery, his room, and his bunker in case things get dicey around here. Once the fortifications go in, Darkseid himself won't be able to get in this room without Mom's say-so."

"His?" Juice echoed, edging past Cyborg and Jason to scoop chips from the snack table. "So you know it's a boy already?"

"No, just hoping," Cyborg said. "But I'm ready for anything. Check this out." He looked up at the ceiling, and announced, "Sarah: it's a boy."

The walls and ceiling dimmed into a rich, bold shade of blue that surprised Raven's chattering entourage into silence. All around them, the room shifted in color, transitioning in seconds without a sound. Even Beast Boy stopped pestering Raven long enough to whistle with admiration at the room's trick.

"Sarah," Cyborg said, "it's a girl."

The room's color shifted again, this time to a shade so pink, it almost hurt to look at. A smattering of applause rounded the room, some of it sarcastic, most of it genuine. Cyborg took his bows regardless.

"Dude," Beast Boy exclaimed as Cyborg reset the room's color to its neutral off-white. "Color-coded for your convenience. But what if the kid's a girl who likes blue?"

"Then we leave it blue," Cyborg said.

Rush looked around, still in awe. This was her first visit with the Titans, and she couldn't believe anyone could live in a place like the Compound. The other Streetbeat shrugged off the opulence of the Titans' home, but she had yet to overcome her own amazement. "But what if it's a boy who likes pink?" she asked.

Beast Boy snorted with derision. "Boys can't like pink. It's a scientastic fact."

A pair of booties wrapped in shimmering soul-self struck him in the nose, chasing him back from the couch. He fought them off with flailing hands while Raven watched on smugly and the rest of the room laughed.

"Whatever the kid is," Cyborg said to Jason, "I'm glad it gave us all a chance to get together. Thanks for coming to the shower. Raven'll never say it, but we all appreciate it."

Jason sipped and shrugged. "Glad to be here. It's nice to hang out when one of us isn't fighting for our lives. Plus, it gives me an excuse to pawn the kids off on someone else for a few minutes."

His grateful expression fell prone as a whining, elongated cry of "Jason!" found him at the snack table. He turned with a readied frown, and found two teens, one blue and one obnoxious, standing behind him. The blue teen tilted his head back to keep the spoon hanging on his nose from dropping.

"What is it, Mag?" he asked, exaggerating his remaining patience.

Holding up a small jar, Magnum whined, "Blink says I have to eat this entire thing of strained carrots. Tell him I don't have to."

"He started it!" Blink said, making his spoon wobble. "He bet me I couldn't stick this spoon to my nose. I did. He lost. Make him eat it!"

"He cheated!" Magnum insisted. "He licked the spoon first. Disqualification for use of saliva!"

"You didn't say I couldn't!" Blink said. "Eat the baby food!"

Jason's scowl vanished behind his hand, which massaged the bridge of his nose. "Are you two idiots telling me you can't solve this on your own? You need me to iron out every little problem you have while you make asses outta yourselves?"

Magnum and Blink shared a look of confusion. "Um, yeah," Magnum told Jason.

"Of course we do," said Blink.

"I thought we'd met," Magnum said.

A bitter sigh escaped from under Jason's hand. "Blink, stop licking spoons. Mag, man up and eat the carrot goop."

Exultation and exasperation burst from either end of the pair. Far behind them, the door to the nursery slid aside, allowing in a new trio. The two remaining Streetbeat entered, ushered in by Tek. She carried Patches on her shoulders, grasping him by his legs, and said to Stripwire, "I dunno. You'd have to ask Vic how…oh, hey. Speak of the digital devil himself," she said, smiling as she saw Cyborg.

Cyborg smiled back. "How was the tour?"

Patches answered for the lot of them with an explosion of enthusiasm. "This place is so cool! They have a tank, and a jet, and a big hologram thingy run by a ninja! Only, don't call him a ninja, 'cause he gets mad," he added sagely, and grasped Tek's forehead to steady himself.

"I take it Ry is doing okay in Ops," Cyborg said. "Well enough to frighten small children, anyway."

He stepped aside at the insistence of a pale hand. Raven pushed past him and sidled up to the snack table. "I offered to trade with him," she said as she filled a plate. "Then he could be down here opening presents, and I could be up in Ops frightening small children."

Though she tried to keep shrouded in her cloak, Raven could not hope to hide the curve of her midriff. Her stomach formed a rolling mountain between her legs and her breasts, a gentle slope that grew less gentle by the day. It poked out the front of her cloak as she leaned back with a light groan.

Tek looked up, exchanging smirks with the boy seated on her shoulders. "Nah," she said. "Patches isn't afraid of big, puffy mommy monsters anyway. They're too slow to gobble him up. Right?"

"Yuh-huh! You're too slow!" Patches jeered playfully.

Raven pierced them both with a look edged with annoyance. Her laden plate hung forgotten in her hand as she pummeled her two-headed antagonist with her eyes. Tek feigned horror and bounced back, crying, "Look out, Patches! She's using her invisible brain-o-vision on us! Quick, we have to run away before she turns us into grumpies like her!"

Patches shrieked with laughter while Tek galloped him around the room. She laughed with him, swinging him to and fro in a desperate ploy to escape Raven's nonexistent attack. Their would-be attacker watched them go, and then returned to her plate. "If only," she muttered, and bit a carrot stick in half.

A quiet sense of pride trickled through Jason as he watched Tek play with Patches. He knew he didn't fully deserve it, but he enjoyed it all the same. "I remember when that girl was nothing but a ball of wrecked, jittery nerves," he said. "Here it is, a year later, it's like she's a whole new person. She's even brave enough to make fun of Raven."

"Yeah," Juice said. He noticed the tic of Raven's brow, and added, "Uh, braver than me. I'm still terrified of Raven. And awed. Terrified and awed. And have I mentioned how good she looks? It's like a glow, really."

"Smooth," Raven grunted, and chomped a celery stick. Crunching, she told them, "Don't get used to the 'glow.' Demon pregnancies are notoriously short. The whole thing should take three, maybe four months."

"You sure started showing quick enough," Cyborg said, earning him Raven's contemptuous look. "Uh, not to worry, though. We'll be ready for anything. I'm already programming Sarah with the latest in childcare protocols."

Raven's dirty look darkened. "There is no way I'm ever letting your bimbo computer babysit the kid."

"That's okay. I'm sure Gar and Ry would be happy to babysit Raven Junior," he retorted with a smirk.

Her look soured. "It'd be safer if we just put it in a box and leave it in the corner."

She trailed off to a chorus of laughter around her and a sheepish look from Beast Boy. Amidst the chatter, Cyborg's arm blinked and beeped. He tapped its panel and said, "Cyborg. Go."

Bushido spoke through Cyborg's arm. His voice cut somberly through the noise of the room. "Victor, your presence is required in Ops. Please bring Tek with you."

Curiosity smothered the teens' mirth. Cyborg found his arm at the center of attention. Tek had stopped across the room, and lifted Patches off her shoulders to frown quizzically at Bushido's request.

Hoping to preserve the party, Cyborg lifted his arm beneath his chin, and murmured, "What's going on? Is there a problem?"

"Yes. You have a long-distance call."

He frowned. "Long-distance?"

"Very long."

"You wanna run that by me one more time?" Cyborg said. His throat clenched, making his words terse and sharp to match his glare.

He, Tek, and Bushido stood in Ops around the main console, watching the immense holo-screen projected over their heads. The face of John Stewart filled the screen, watching back with luminous green eyes. His expression mirrored Cyborg's as he said, "We need to take Tek into custody immediately. It's vital to your security, our security, and the general safety of your city that she come with us."

The weighty ultimatum sank into Ops. Cyborg blinked twice and shook his head, still not convinced that his hearing wasn't malfunctioning. "Okay. I've heard it twice now. What I'm not hearing is 'why.' If this is how you recruit new members…"

He glanced to Tek. She stared up at the light screen in a daze, her mouth hanging open. Her hands grasped the back of the console's chair, knuckles whitened and trembling with tension.

"This isn't about recruitment. We have more than enough teenagers," John told him. "We have reason to believe that she represents a real risk. We need to ensure that she doesn't—"

"'She's' right here," Tek said suddenly. She tried to sound testy, but her voice quavered. "Why don't you tell 'her' why you think she's so dangerous?"

John's lips puckered with annoyance. "Sorry," he said curtly. "Are you familiar with The Brain?"

Cyborg bristled, folding his arms. "Are we paying for this call?" he pointedly asked Bushido, pumping his words with a lethal dose of sarcasm. To John, he snapped, "You didn't call us for an anatomy lesson, did you?"

Bristling back, John snapped, "'The Brain' is the back-alley name for a brilliant crackpot-for-hire. No one knows what he looks like or where to find him, but he has a reputation for mercenary science and technology work. And we've recently uncovered evidence that he was designing a cape-killing weapon of unimaginable potential."

"Maybe somebody should check the cages at Acme Labs," Cyborg snarked.

John's eyebrows mashed down until his glare became glowing slits. "Put the pieces together, kid. This 'Brain' guy has done work for people like Intergang, the Rogues, maybe even Luthor. All of his clients have a vested interest in taking out people in our line of work. The Brain could make a cool fortune selling a weapon that can recognize, evaluate, and eliminate any hero in the world."

"Okay," Tek drawled. "Brain equals bad. But what makes you think I can help you find him or this weapon of his?"

The screen filled with John's skepticism. He looked directly at her, and said, "Kid, who am I?"

She didn't even pause for breath. "John Stewart, Sergeant, retired, US Marine Corps, current Green Lantern assigned to Sector Two-Eight-One-Four." She patted her chest, looking abashed. "Sorry. It's, uh, like a hiccup."

"Right. So why do I get the feeling that you would 'hiccup' if I asked you about anyone else in the League?" John said.

The realization slapped Tek a second later. Her jaw dropped as she exclaimed, "Wait a minute. You think… You think I'm the… That I…"

Cyborg stepped in front of her, half-shielding her from John's glare. "You can't be serious. That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. You can't seriously think that Tek is some kind of living seek-and-destroy hero bomb."

John nodded. "That's exactly what we suspect. We've uncovered evidence that suggests—"

"Go to hell," Cyborg barked. He slid in front of Tek, blocking her from the screen. "You call us up out of the blue to tell us that you need to just up and take Tek because you think she's some kind of threat to you, and you expect us to swallow that sight unseen? Go tell your techs to up the oxygen count in your space gazebo, 'cause you—"

"Memory loss. Blackouts. Personality shifts," John rattled sharply, cutting off Cyborg. "Does any of this sound familiar? They're all signs of a sleeper agent." His face softened slightly as he said, "We're not accusing anyone of being a criminal here. But the pieces fit too well to ignore this. We need to be sure."

Cyborg felt a hand against his back. He stepped aside, and then reached out to catch Tek as she stumbled forward. Numb with shock, Tek collapsed against his arm, knocking her chin hard against his metal plating. Her mouth drifted through her thoughts, finding only pieces with which to make words. "I don't… What? That…"

"Tell me anything about yourself, kid," John said in a tone that approached sympathy. "Anything at all from before you woke up with that suit. Your family? Where you lived? Do you even know your name?"

"…Tek," she whispered. Despair spilled from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. "My name is Tek."

John's mouth pressed into a line. "Look, we're not talking about prison. You'll come up to the Watchtower for a few days. We'll run some tests to figure out what's going on. Worst case scenario, we find a way to deactivate your suit so you aren't a threat to yourself anymore."

"I don't believe Tek is the one issuing threats right now," Bushido said. He had been silent since answering John's call, and his voice hardly broke a whisper. But his implication rang louder than Cyborg's bluster or Tek's babble.

The scowl returned to John's face. "This isn't a threat. Or a debate. Or a game. This is what has to happen."

Cyborg thrust a finger at the hologram. "Listen, you son of a—"

"What…" Tek's meandering voice stumbled ahead of Cyborg's. She hung over his arm, and muttered toward the light-screen, "What would I have to do?"

John relaxed his scowl. "Pack a light bag. Just some clothes and whatever else you'll need for a few days. Then head up to your roof and give us a call. We can teleport you using your communicator signal to triangulate—"

"No!" Cyborg snapped. Grasping Tek tightly, he said, "You aren't scrambling her atoms just so you can pull her apart in your lab. If you want her so bad, you can send down one of your spaceships so she can ride up like a regular person."

A tug of war raged between John's and Cyborg's glares, with Tek trapped between. Finally, John relented. "Fine. You can expect a League craft at your facility in about twenty minutes. I'll be coming personally to make sure everything goes smoothly and that everyone's treated fairly. Watchtower, out."

The screen dissolved into fading pixels that snowed upon the three Titans. Then they vanished as Cyborg's fist caved in the projector table. Sparks spat from the projector's bent base as he pulled his hand out of its innards. "Damn it," he swore softly. "Tek, we need to…Tek?"

He glanced back at the retching noise behind him. Tek was bent over the back of the console chair, emptying her stomach onto its seat. Bushido stood behind her with his hand at her back while she shuddered herself empty.

A whimper pulled Cyborg away from the gut-wrenching sight. He looked to the wings of Ops' balcony, and saw the entirety of the baby shower watching him in worried silence. Patches, the whimperer he'd heard, cringed and hid behind Queenie's leg. The rest of them stood with expressions that ranged between worry and disgust.

Starfire approached from the other wing, brushing the hair out of her puzzled scowl. "What is the problem? I heard shouting."

"I don't know," Raven said across Ops. She leveled a pointed look at Cyborg. "We got worried and decided to check it out. I think we walked in somewhere around 'This isn't a debate.' Who wants to fill in the rest?"

"I'm a weapon," Tek murmured, wiping her mouth. She leaned over the chair, shuddering, her legs bowed out. If not for Bushido's support, she would have collapsed. "I'm a …"

Cyborg grasped her arm, helping her stand. "You're not a weapon," he snapped. "This is pure bullshit! He can't think we'll just jump when he tells us to, or swallow that load of—"

"Whoa, whoa…" Beast Boy walked forward, stopping Cyborg's tirade with upturned hands. "Let's back the crazy train up a few cars and let the rest of us on. Tek's a what? A weapon?"

Cyborg took a deep breath, cooling the fire in his stomach. In five snappish sentences, he summed up the ridiculous story John Stewart had given them. Cyborg's retelling was laden with editorializing, and made liberal use of the word "ass." By the time he was done, the rest of his friends had adopted his scowl as their own.

"This is pure bullshit!" Beast Boy exclaimed. "The Fancy-Pants League thinks they can just tell us what to do because they're older and have a cooler base? Bullshit! I say we wait for whoever they're sending, and we show 'em just what happens when you mess with the Teen Titans!" He threw practice jabs through the air, his tongue poking between his fangs.

"I'm sure Green Lantern would be happy to entertain your lesson," Bushido said with flat sarcasm.

Beast Boy's fist and face fell. "Green Who-tern? Well…then we should send a very strongly-worded letter. Written with letters. On letterhead!" he declared.

"Or, if we're interested in doing the smart thing…" said Raven. "We need answers, not pointless contrariness. We need to know more about what we're dealing with."

"We know what we're dealing with," Beast Boy retorted. "The League is giving us the runaround, and they want us to ship Tek off to their floating space tube."

Raven rolled her eyes. "More about 'Tek,' Garfield. We need to know what, if anything, of what the League suspects is true. If she is what they say she is…"

Beast Boy rounded on her with a shocked expression. "If she is…? What is the matter with you? Tek's our friend! Could you once, maybe, for two seconds, pretend like you have a heart?"

"Blind optimism isn't going to solve this situation," Raven told him hotly.

"Neither is being a bitch—"

"ENOUGH!" Starfire shook the balcony with her shout. She stomped through their startled stares and stood next to Tek. "We do not need to know anything. We will protect our friend, regardless of who or how many they send."

Hands on hips, Beast Boy sneered, and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you actually caring about us again? It's kinda hard to tell after the last month of you brooding so hard that you don't even show up to a party for your best friend that's right next-freaking-door to your own room!"

Raven eyed him incredulously. "You're not seriously sticking up for me after calling me a bitch, are you?"

"You were being a bitch! That doesn't mean—"

"Everyone, shut up, shut up. Shut. Up," Cyborg boomed. He waited for their voices to quell and their glares to cool. Then he rested his hand on Tek's trembling shoulder. His eyes descended to hers, staring, mismatched, through the terror and confusion swimming in her face. "Tek, you need to weigh in right now. No sarcasm. No selflessness. Just tell me what you want to do. These guys, they might have some answers you've been looking for. I ain't gonna like, I don't like it. But if you want to go, then okay. But if you don't want to go…"

Tek reached up and grasped Cyborg's hand. Tears rolled down her quivering cheeks as she stared through Cyborg. Just minutes ago, she had been laughing and smiling like a normal girl. Now she looked lost in every conceivable sense of the word. But in a small, shaky voice, she whispered, "Please don't make me go."

Cyborg straightened at once. His hand stayed with Tek's, squeezing it for assurance. "Okay. Raven's right: we need to know more about what's going on, but I'm not gonna swallow any more League bull until I look into it myself. Starfire's right: we stand by our own, no matter what. Beast Boy…is right in spirit, even though he's pretty much just spouting verbal diarrhea right now."

"Yeah! What?" Beast Boy exclaimed.

"And Bushido is right for keeping his mouth shut and not making things worse."

"Thank you," Bushido said with a nod.

"Shut up. All right," Cyborg said, and ran a hand across his scalp with a bitter breath. "Tek stays with us. Which is going to get harder in about seventeen minutes. I seriously doubt our security will keep out a determined Justice League for much longer after that."

Starfire's eyes glimmered beneath knit brows. "So we fight," she said.

"Or, a not-crazy plan: we run," Beast Boy said.

"We run" Cyborg echoed. "We need to get out of here yesterday, and find some answers of our own. Sarah: prep the Icarus for launch, full fuel and supplies. It might be a long trip."

"Acknowledged. The Icarus will be fueled and prepped for launch in T-minus twenty minutes," Sarah's disembodied voice reported.

Cyborg cringed. He might be able to cut down on the prep time for flight, but not enough to beat the League's arrival. The Icarus was no slouch in speed and firepower, but that assumed it had a chance to make it out of the Bay. Were their positions reversed, Cyborg would keep his Javelin covering the surly teenagers' door in case they made a break for it.

But there was little else he could do. Keeping his hand in Tek's, he steered the Titans out of Ops. "Let's go. If we hurry—"

"Hey!" Jason shouted. He and the other Streetbeat had stood quietly at Ops' edge, watching the disaster unfold. Now he stepped forward, and snapped, "You heard your computer. Green Lantern is gonna smack your super-jet out of the air with a big green hand before you even put your tray tables up."

"Not a lot of choice," Cyborg said. "You guys should clear out. Sorry, but if this goes down bad—"

"—y'all are gonna need help," Queenie finished for him, folding her arms.

The rest of the Titans stopped, caught in the determination that their Streetbeat friends shared. One by one, the Streetbeat stepped in line with Queenie to offer a nod. Even Patches followed, though he hid amongst the others' legs.

Cyborg sighed impatiently. "That's really cool, guys, but I'm not looking to start a fight."

"You've already got a fight," Juice said with a scoff. "It's the best kind of fight, too, because the other guy doesn't know it's a fight yet."

"Yeah. The other guy. Green Lantern," Beast Boy enunciated loudly. "How do you win a fight when the other guy founded the Justice League?"

"Same way you beat any other big guy," Magnum said, and smirked. "You feint. Then you punch through him and run like hell."

Third Street rumbled with the approach of a fleet, compact, rotund stellar vehicle shaped like a bug. Carbon scoring mottled the ship's sapphire paint along its sides and across its long antennae sensors. Its wheeled legs reached for the street, touching down lightly to lower the ship to the pavement.

The block stood empty, cordoned from traffic by a pair of police squad cars at either end. The black-and-whites' lights flashed as their officers rerouted traffic around Titans Compound, just as the Justice League had requested.

The bug ship's belly split open, lowering a ramp that banged against the pavement. John Stewart strode out of the craft, followed closely by Shayara, whose wings folded to fit through the narrow hatch.

Clad in colors like his ship, their pilot descended after them, taking in the street with a goggled gaze. "It looks clear enough," Blue Beetle decided, and scratched the top of his cowl. "What's got you so edgy?"

"Just keep your eyes open," John told him. He caught sight of an older man striding toward them from the parked police cruisers, and moved to intercept him. "Somehow I doubt these kids are going to start acting rational about this all of a sudden. Keep your Bug running."

The old man reached them, bearing a lined countenance without reaction to the heroic trio or their spaceship. He offered his hand, and said, "Lieutenant Smith, Jump City SCU."

"John Stewart," John said, and took his hand.

"I know. I read," Smith said. He held the handshake a second too long to be friendly. His smile was hard, chiseled out of years' worth of unpleasantness, not all of it his own.

Shayara glanced at the police at either end of the block. "I'm surprised the city called you in. We just needed the street cleared for landing. There shouldn't be any need for your unit here."

"Yeah, well, 'shouldn't' is a word that comes up an awful lot when capes are involved," Smith said. "No offense meant, but I get a new ulcer whenever I see somebody flying a spaceship over my city. So, are these kids in some kind of trouble?"

"There's no trouble," John told him, his tone growing curt with the old man's vinegar. "Just some League business that's spilled over into your turf, is all. Nothing we can't handle."

Smith's entire face puckered. He fell into step beside John, his canvas trench coat fluttering behind him. "Handle? I don't like that word, Mister. 'Handle' implies trouble, which is something I don't need by the bucketful. These are basically some good kids, and if they're in trouble, or starting trouble, I'd like to know it."

"It's nothing like that, Lieutenant," Shayara insisted. With a sharp look at the back of John's head, she said, "He phrased it poorly. We're just here to pick up one of the children for a visit to the Watchtower, that's all. She was nervous about using the teleporter."

A high-pitched whine cut the air, tensing every muscle in John's body. He followed the sound to the roof of the Compound, where the sound of ratcheting metal joined the whine.

Green power enveloped John to lift him into the air. He soared over the street to confront the sound. Fluttering wings followed behind him, carrying Shayara in his wake. As he crested over the Compound, he saw an enormous set of double-doors opening in its roof. A silvery jet waited underneath, its running lights already flashing, its aft end alight with thruster backwash.

He thrust his ring at the doors and willed a screen of energy to leap from his fist. The green screen enveloped the opening bay, trapping the jet underneath. With nowhere to go, the jet's engines powered down in defeat.

John kept his screen in place. His ring scanned the jet's fuselage and found no life signs inside it. "It's empty," he told Shayara.

She floated above him, examining the jet through John's screen. Something about it struck her as familiar, but she couldn't place exactly what. "What are they trying, sending an empty jet up?" she mused.

Metal crashed and thumped down below on the street. Releasing the power screen, John led Shayara in a dive over the side of the Compound. He saw Blue Beetle and the Lieutenant jumping back from a ramp that had swung down to the street from the building's side. Pushing himself down with his ring, John caught a glimpse of a short, winding tunnel inside the ramp hatch.

Headlights dazzled him from inside the hatch. He and Shayara shot upward to avoid the explosive emergence of a strange, enormous tank. Roaring atop tires and treads, the Titans' CUTTER raced over the hatch ramp. It gripped the road, screeching in a ninety-degree turn that nearly swallowed Smith and Beetle. Both men could have reached out and touched the side of the tank before its treads spun, shooting the tank forward.

Canisters rained from the underside of the tank as John lifted his ring. He constructed a lance in his mind, and was halfway to pushing it through his ring, when the bouncing canisters erupted. Light and sound consumed the street in one disorienting blast.

By the time the thunderous flash faded, the CUTTER had rounded the corner, out of sight. The police blockade at the end of the street had become two half-crushed cars that had been knocked aside. Their officers picked themselves off the sidewalk, shaking at the near miss.

Spots danced in John's eyes and bells sang in his ears. He shook both clear as he landed hard next to Smith and Beetle. Shayara stumbled to ground next to him, looking the way he felt. "Flash-bangs," he snarled, waving at the spots in his eyes.

Beetle shouted over the noise in his head. "I can maybe catch them in the Bug, but—"

"Stay here," John snapped, and donned his ring's containment field. "They might try to double back on us. Shayara, with me."

They soared over the top of the Compound, chasing the growl of an engine that dwindled into the distance. Traffic had skidded and skewed in the CUTTER's wake, leaving a trail of cars swerved onto the sidewalk or on the wrong side of the road for the two Leaguers to follow.

"You know, if you had been a little more diplomatic, they might have cooperated," Shayara said. She pulled her mace from her belt, looping her wrist through its strap.

John watched the road for bystanders in need of help. The Titans' reckless escape had left scores of citizens rattled, but seemingly unharmed. People pointed and shouted at him and Shayara as they passed overhead. "How was I not diplomatic? I told them what we needed from them. This is a clear case of teenage rebellion."

Shayara spared him a smug look. "You were abrasive. You can be sometimes, you know."

"Look who's talking," John retorted.

The back of the CUTTER came into sight. The tank twisted sharply around corners, trading speed for a chance to lose the Leaguers. When its green and winged pursuers rounded the corner after it, the CUTTER ran full-out, blaring its horn at the traffic in its way. Its plasma-driven engine howled, feeding speed directly into its treads.

Twin turrets, fore and aft, lifted from the roof of the CUTTER, brandishing double-cannons up at its pursuers. White-hot prelude glowed in its barrels, turning John's annoyance into ashen surprise. "They wouldn't…" he said.

Glimmering bolts leapt out of the cannons. The white fire bracketed John and Shayara, forcing them to separate or be vaporized. One shot sizzled at the edge of John's containment field before careening into the sky.

"So how should I handle this one? Ask nicely?" John called mockingly over the sizzle of the bolts.

Shayara's face became a hard expanse of teeth and mettle. "Be diplomatic," she called back.

Her wings folded back as she dove at the tank. Its aft cannons tracked after her flight, spraying wild fire behind her. She bellowed a war cry and swung her mace through the turret, turning it into a twisted mess with one blow. Another swing bisected the fore turret with a shower of sparks. Shayara landed atop the crippled tank and grasped the edge of the ruined turret to steady herself. Her mace pounded its way through the roof, fueled by her shouts.

John willed his ring's power into simplistic pincers. The green tines stretched at the swerving CUTTER and grasped its left tread. Metal and rubber shrieked as the pincers stopped the treads in their tracks, tearing apart the gears that drove them. The CUTTER spun into a skid, its right treads locking in sympathy for the left. In a cloud of burnt rubber, the CUTTER drifted to a halt, smoldering and immobile.

Shayara hopped down as John landed next to the tank's side hatch. As he pounded his fist on the armor, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of admiration for the Titans. Their escape had been rash and sloppy, but had taken a mountain of bravado to attempt under his nose. But bravado wouldn't change what he had to do. "Open up, kids. I think you've caused enough trouble for one day."

The hatch hissed open. John and Shayara stepped back to allow it room to lower to the ground. When it did, it revealed a dirty blond in a denim jacket, who smiled at their astonishment. "Man," Jason said, "Am I glad you pulled us over. I am so lost right now."

"Hurry up!" Magnum shouted from the interior of the CUTTER. "I want some damn pancakes!"

"Shut the hell up, and I'll ask!" Jason snarled back into the tank. Offering John and Shayara a smile, he said, "Sorry. Do you know where I can find a Denny's, or an IHOP? I've got a carful of hungry kids…"

"Who are you?" John demanded. "Where are the Titans?"

That familiar whine returned, this time muffled by their distance from the Compound. John turned from the smug stranger in the tank and looked back the way they had flown. Over the rows of buildings, he saw the silvery shape of a strange jet rise, riding VTOL thrusters.

He was in the air in an instant, flying with Shayara on his heels. Touching his ear, he commed, "Beetle, what the hell is going on? That jet was empty!"

"It just started up!" Beetle shouted over the link. "I scanned their base, and that looked empty too. I thought they had left another way, but their jet just took off. I'm heading back to…oh, no!"

John didn't need to ask. He saw a small protrusion beneath the jet spit green fire down behind the row of buildings blocking his view. Something under the jet plumed with smoke and conflagration. He had to assume that was Beetle's Bug being eliminated. He willed himself to go faster.

Shayara stared intently at the jet's outline. As its aft end swung around, flashing them with its thruster assembly, her memory clicked into place. "John! That's a Gordanian scout ship!" she exclaimed.

"I still can't read any life signs in it," he shouted back. He readied a shot that would hopefully force them to land. If he did too much damage, he might hurt the kids inside, and worse, anyone underneath them.

"It's equipped with sensor baffles," Shayara told him, "And a cl—"

The silvery ship shimmered as if caught in an intense heat wave. Its wobbling outline faded. Its engine backwash grew dim as it climbed into the sky. Even the roar of its engines quieted, leaving only the whistle of the wind to taunt John.

He slowed to a stop, searching the featureless sky for some sign of the jet. His ring lowered in defeat. Hovering behind him, Shayara sighed, and said, "—cloaking device."

His eyes and ring found nothing but empty air. "Damn it," he deadpanned, and reached for his ear. "I am never gonna hear the end of this one."

Cold Atlantic waves pounded the rocky cliff face. The surf sprayed over the stone, inexorably smoothing its way inland, as it always had and always would. A carpet of gray storm clouds hung over the clash of stone and surf, drizzling into the struggle.

One lone figure sat on an outcropping of the cliff face, caught halfway between the land and the sea. He watched the sea grow angrier, its wave encroaching up the cliff beneath his dangling legs. The largest waves pelted his bare feet with brine. The rest of him soaked slowly in the light rain. His stained work overalls grew heavy and cold in the chill of the air, which turned his breath to steam. His dark hair sopped onto his forehead.

He was no stranger to East Coast weather. Steel City boasted a climate all too similar to that in Gotham, if perhaps a little cooler. The industrial metropolis waited several miles to the north, well away from the cliffs or the open mouth of the cave behind his outcropping.

Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine Steel City caught in the rain. He had spent days memorizing everything about the city: its streets, its utility layouts, its patterns and movements, its rising rate of unusual crime. But with all the facts of the city at his disposal, he could not visualize what it looked like. He didn't know which of its roofs offered the most exciting swing-down. He didn't even know where to find the best pizza, or the most passable Chinese food.

A sigh puffed from his wet lips. He would learn, eventually. Incidentally. None of the city's flavors would prove crucial in saving it. He needed to remember patience, and more importantly, focus. Those were the virtues he preached to the others. In time, Steel City would feel enough like home that it wouldn't matter anymore.

Footsteps scraped the stone behind him. He opened his eyes and twisted, looking back. Superboy jogged out of the shadows of the cave, wearing a sense of urgency around his half-hearted uniform of jeans and a shield-branded T-shirt. "Tim! Tim! I've been looking everywhere! You've gotta check this out!" he exclaimed.

"I was just taking a break, Conner," Tim said, and rose to his feet. "What's the problem?"

Superboy shoved his hand between them, revealing a round, silver device clutched in his palm. He thumbed its side, calling a two-dimensional hologram from its face. A studio news broadcast hovered in the air, and a familiar news anchor spoke in crisp tones.

"Alarm gripped the city today," Hank McCoy announced to the two teens. "An altercation between the Teen Titans and the Justice League spilled out onto the streets, disrupting traffic for eight blocks and causing several thousand dollars in general damages."

"Dude!" Superboy exclaimed, jostling the communicator and its projection. "The League dropped the hammer on the Titans. Your buds are totally on the run!"

Tim scowled, trying to listen through Superboy's interjection. "I would have heard that from the report if you would be quiet. What else did I miss?"

"Amp down, Grouch Wonder. It's a recording." Superboy toggled the side of his communicator. The holographic news report rewound with a squeal, and then continued as normal.

"—damages. League representatives are calling the altercation a 'training drill' that got out of hand, and have offered reparations for the damages as an act of contrition. The Titans have not issued any statement confirming this yet, and are currently unavailable or unable to comment on the disruption to the city's—"

Superboy clicked off the report. "It just yammers on from there. But come on," he said, "you know the League wouldn't just drop on the Titans to run drills. Up 'til now, they never even cared about the Titans."

Hesitation flooded Tim's first reaction. He wanted to wave off the report, to pretend like it didn't matter to him. He had a million good excuses ready for not getting involved. Their operation was still new. They hadn't even finished setting up their headquarters. But none of his excuses would convince Superboy. He could see that in the clone's determined enthusiasm.

"You really want to get in the middle of this?" Tim asked, already knowing the answer.

"Hell yeah, I do," Superboy said. "And you can bet everyone else will, too. This is exactly why we signed up."

Tim marched into the cave, leaving behind the clash of surf and stone for his own eternal conflict. He reached into the pocket of his work overalls, and said, "If we're going to do this, let's do it right. Inform the others, and then prep the jet. I have a call to make. We need to know more about the situation before we start busting heads."

Excitement stole the weight out of Superboy's sneakers. He floated ahead of Tim to the back wall of the cave. Seizing a nearby stalagmite, he bent it back on a hidden hinge, revealing a secreted control panel. He pressed a code into its keypad, and said, "You do the brain work, and I'll do the braining. Teamwork at its finest, Tim."

The rear of the cave split open. Behind the faux stone doors appeared a metal lift with retracting safety rails. As the two teens boarded the lift, Tim fished from his pocket a thin strip of black fabric. He pressed it to his face.

"Watch the names, Superboy," he said in a practiced growl. "We're on the clock now. Let's get to work."

To Be Continued