165. Hand and Dagger part 2
"Years ago……"
A dark alleyway.
Blackened snow from the soot of polluted skies drifting down.
An obsidian mist covering the slums.
A small figure, under a raggedy blanket.
Shivering.
"He began innocently enough like anyone else. A child……"
The figure clutches himself.
Teeth gritting.
He looks up.
Dark, scraggly hair.
A smudged face.
Ten year old faces turning to stone ten years early.
His cold eyes magnify the frost in the air……and reflect the fire of nearby smokestacks in the urban sprawl.
"……a child…born of the streets. No mother. No name. No home other than the asphalt and concrete around him."
The boy wanders the frost-littered streets of some forsaken City.
Cobblestones and brick flow beneath him as he stumbles forward.
Past huddled homeless.
Half-frozen corpses curled up in the gutters.
A holocaust of poverty and winter.
The boy clutches himself and looks up.
The buildings grow taller and taller.
A steel-reinforced jungle with lights like a Christmas massacre.
"It is a miracle that he survived on his own the way that he did. Alone as he did. Helpless as he was. Most likely, he learned from an early age that there were powers in numbers. Strength amongst groups."
He runs at the head of a pack of six scraggly youths down a bazaar-lined street.
An aproned adult runs after them, shaking his fist and shouting.
The boy and the other children round a corner, run down an old alleyway, and scale a dilapidated fence into a sandlot.
They stop running and catch their breath.
They smile as the one boy opens his jacket and produces a huge loaf of bread.
He breaks it and they all share.
Stuffing their pale, emaciated faces.
Haloed by a streetlamp in the early morning.
"But he must also have learned that working with people brought as much ills as it brought good. Who knows what immeasurable horrors the youth saw when on his own in the concrete jungle…."
Muffled screams in the alleyways.
The boy comes to a standstill on a shady sidewalk at night.
A ten year old girl's body lies on the street corner.
Butchered, her dress lifted.
A red pool gathering into the street and rivering towards a gutter.
More screams.
The boy quietly looks over.
He sees two burly men dragging a woman from the street corner.
She kicks and screams as they take her behind a dumpster.
One produces a dagger.
It glints in the moonlight.
The men disappear with the woman beyond view.
Abruptly, her screaming stops.
The boy's eyes are still.
Glossed over like ice on glass.
"The boy's soul absorbed everything rather than resist it. But he didn't learn to mimic the things around him. He learned to perfect them. He knew the power of silence…of observing things…of taking note of the world around him. The way the moral fabric of existence ticks like a huge, celestial clock."
The boy sneaks up a fire escape.
He comes to a window.
He flicks out a dagger he picked up off the street.
Stained with a woman's blood……
He picks a lock with it.
He opens the window.
He sneaks into the apartment.
He creeps by a sleeping tenant on a couch.
Into the kitchen…
He grabs as much food as he can.
He makes for an exit…but pauses.
Staring……
Money lies on the kitchen counter.
And a wallet.
He takes a deep breath.
He gazes into the living room with emaciated eyes.
He looks back on the money.
"It didn't take long for him to evolve. To climb the ladder. To not only learn that the world is a silly place built on grand narratives such as 'economy', but also that it could be manipulated…especially by hearts to inclined to power and ascension."
In a familiar sandlot, the boy stands at the front of a meeting.
He hands out money from the stolen wallet to random adolescents his age.
He points.
They nod.
They rush out into the cold, smog-laden alleyways.
Minutes later……some hours later……they return each with stolen food and bread.
The boy takes a deep breath and sets up a 'housing' of sorts for the stolen goods.
And once everyone has returned……
A share of the money is returned.
And the food is equally distributed.
A few pat him on the back and cheer in their own subtle ways.
The rest are too busy scarfing food to say anything.
The boy watches mutely.
His eyes cold…almost sad.
He stands tall among them.
"Everything started subtly at first. Like the first teeter of an initial domino. But soon the ivory keys had to fall."
The boy struggles in the middle of the bazaar.
Late at night.
Caught by a shop keeper.
The man forces the bread out of the boy's hands.
The boy weakly stumbles back.
The man snarls and backhands him across the cheek.
With a cry, the boy falls to the cobblestone street.
With a clanking sound, something falls out of his shirt pocket and lands in front of him.
Pressing himself up, the boy shudders.
His visage reflects off the one clean part of the blood-stained dagger.
Alive and glowing in the moonlight.
The boy shudders.
"Somehow, he had to have crossed that line. Some precise moment when the moral fiber of life and the inbred dichotomy of right and wrong dissolved in his head in the most poisonous of ways. And he lost scent of blood. And he lost taste for heat. And all that was once pumping in his arteries turned cold and ran free from his skin like mercury or quicksilver."
The shopkeeper walks back to his line of goods, grumbling.
He sets the bread down onto a tray.
His hands suddenly jerk and mangle the dough apart.
His eyes are bulging.
His back straight and tight as the muscles in the center are being ripped into.
The bruised boy is pouncing onto the man's back, driving the dagger into his back.
Snarling.
Animalistic.
The fire from the polluted sprawl shrieking to life ever so momentarily in his cold as Calypso eyes.
The man falls down to the cobblestones like a bag full of blood.
The boy yanks the blade out.
He straddles the man's back.
He pants.
Something somewhere distant falls slowly to the ground like tears or snowflakes.
The boy rolls them out of his eyes like a feasting shark.
He lifts the blade.
He stops breathing.
And he stabs.
And he stabs.
And he stabs.
And he stabs……
"The boy died. In place of warm skin and circulating life juice there was forged cold steel, stale silver, and jagged ivory. The Dagger was born. The eternal, nameless, soulless leech of the night."
He stumbles down the mist-laden alleyway.
His mouth agape.
Breathing vapors.
His wrists covered in blood.
Clutching the dagger.
Limping……
Panting.
Stopping for just a moment.
Looking down at the weapon in his hand.
Glancing up high at the skyscrapers.
The untouched ceiling of the urban Hell.
"Once the line is crossed, you never go back. You are never…...ever the same. Even at such an age, the boy knew this. And he didn't endeavor to go back. He could only go forward. As if he was made for it. As if the human part of him was an illusion and the only thing real was the metal extension from his hands in the form of a blade."
He paces across a rooftop.
His body a silhouette in the moonlight.
He stabs forward.
He retracts.
He twirls the blade in his hand like a spinning star.
He
spins into an air-kissing attack.
Slashing at unseen enemies.
Panting like some sort of wounded animal.
And he got better…and better……and better………
"And just like a blade, he lived up to one purpose and one purpose alone. To cut. To slice into ribbons. To lacerate a path and keep on going. To keep on going as long as the hilt remained in tact."
His shadow traces him as he pounces down the alleyway.
Two gang members spin around.
They don't have time to gasp--
He practically dives through them, snarling.
It only takes two twirls of the dagger as he spins between them and ends on the other side, panting still.
The two men clutch throats that are suddenly missing.
Blood spurts.
Gurgling sonds……
They collapse to the cold alleyway.
The boy swallows.
His panting lessens as the smell of copper rises up into his nose.
And he grows……
Calmer.
And……
Quieter.
He kneels.
Scoops up their wallets.
And leaves them to bleed……
"It became oh-so-natural. And the boy saw it. Not in a matter of egotism…but part of some self-deluded fact that he was becoming a god incarnate. A deity of the streets. But how can one call him deluded if everything he did….everything he ever desired…….came true by his hand?"
A loud clanking sound.
Mobsters inside a warehouse spin around.
A dark, raggedy figure lands in a crouch from a burst ventilation shaft in the ceiling.
With barely a breath, he glares up at the mafia.
They gather around the mob boss and whip out pistols.
The boy grits his teeth and streaks forward.
They fire.
A wall of lead.
Potshots exploding across half the warehouse.
The boy runs up a wall, hops off it, vaults off a pile of crates, and leaps over the bulletfire.
He whips out two daggers and twirls them in opposite sets of fingers.
The mobsters gasp.
The boss stumbles backwards.
The boy lands in the middle of them, crouches, and springs up with a seven hundred and twenty degree spin with both daggers twirling.
Trails of red launch through the air.
Then……
Silence.
The boy's spin ceases and his body coils nimbly as if at the end of an artistic dance.
A beat.
The mobster gunmen all fall to the floor in red puddles.
Only the mafia boss is left alive.
And he's trembling like mad.
The boy glares at him.
He twirls the daggers one last time.
The boss has one last time to gasp before his trachea is severed from two converging points of entrance.
"He learned to be sadistic. But not so much as to take pleasure from cold blood…...but rather to use it to his advantage. All for ascension."
In a dockside hideout, a large group of thugs look up from the floor.
They immediately whip out pistols and sub-machine guns.
The young man stands on a balcony lining the front of the warehouse's interior.
He has a dagger in one hand.
And in the other……
The young man glares.
He tosses the body of the mafia leader over the balcony railing.
The leader's body dangles by barbed wired tied to his ankle and the railing above.
He's dead.
Bleeding all over.
His eyes stabbed out.
The thugs lower their guns.
Gasping.
The young man glares.
He leans against the balcony, twirling a dagger……then pointing it at the group of thugs.
And they all turn numb.
"He won respect. By whatever obtuse code of conduct there exists in the criminal underworld, he received acclaim. And he won followers. By the dozens at first. Then by the hundreds. And the thousands. They flocked to him not so much because he was powerful…but because he was invicible."
Police officers surround a bank robbery in a solid barricade.
One officer prepares tear gas.
Another speaks through a megaphone.
A screeching sound.
The officers glance over.
A tan van screeches to a stop.
The sliding door opens.
The young man is the first of four thugs to pop out, aim assault rifles, and let loose.
The officers can barely reach their pistols before their bodies are rendered to crimson swiss cheese.
The young man's eyes narrow as he pivots his aim, fires a few last shots, and blows holes into three descending foreheads in a row.
"Nothing stood in his way that he didn't challenge. No leader too great or informant too small that he didn't hold an influence over. The city became his kingdom. A place of peasants and serfs under different names. And he was the chessmaster, moving all the pieces around. Even those of his opponents. When he saw victory at hand, he grabbed it without hesitation. If ever he was to lose, the whole world would lose too."
A parade creeps down a city street.
Confetti falls.
Crowds gather around thickly in the street.
Hundreds more cheer and wave from windows.
An open limousine rolls down the Main Street.
A politician waves his hand from inside.
Police escort him from the front, sides, and rear.
And……
On a rooftop a block away, the young man watches through binoculars.
He lowers the visual aid.
He looks across the way at another rooftop.
He nods his head towards thugs gathered on the ledge.
The men salute back silently.
Two of them fumble around and produce a rocket-propelled-grenade.
They take aim at the street below.
A pause to aim.
And……
The projectile soars down.
When it impacts with the limousine, the politician's head and torso go in two opposite directions.
People scream.
The young man watches with glazed eyes.
Expressionless.
"He never told anyone his name. Anyone who so much as saw his face, he would kill. Anyone who so much as saw his face and tried to tell others about it, he would torture….THEN kill. He sometimes took the opportunity to inflict such pain and death himself, but he never took pleasure in it. At least, not as could be witnessed. And, gradually, he let himself seep into the deep womb of the bureaucracy that he had forged with years of steel-cold determination. A company of arsonists would move at the flick of his wrist. He would merely have to point to get a hitman on the job of taking out a city official or a rogue crimelord. He'd hire gang rapists off the street to molest and stab to death the children of his opponents. Any and all things that could be desensitized through pen, ink, and red tape…he manifested. And he made allies in dark…dark places…"
The elevator doors open.
The man gazes out onto the spacious office, lined with windows.
Viewing the majestic spires of Metropolis from the inside out.
He walks across a plush carpet, twirling a blade.
Flanked by two bodyguards.
Lex Luthor stands up from his desk, smiles, and extends a hand.
The man merely stares.
Twirling the blade.
A beat.
Luthor sweats a bit.
But he clears his throat, smiles, and gestures towards a visual set up of……plans.
The man nods and proceeds coldly to attend.
"And even…..darker places….."
He stands on a frigate.
Overlooking dark waters.
He holds the dagger behind his back.
He gazes aside at Slade.
Slade speaks about something.
He gestures out towards the City.
A couple feet away on the deck, a pink-haired girl in a metal-mesh apprentice outfit sits on the railing with her legs dangling over the edge.
Slade continues dictating.
The
man nods.
He gazes out at the Bayside of the City
again.
"He reached the absolute top. Equally as feared as he was anonymous. He had become something far more transient than the blade. He had no need for an identity…...just for the continued spilling of blood for his will. His life became a cancerous thing, seeping into the criminal underworld, sucking it of all its nutrients, and spilling the toxins out onto the rest of the world in the form of missing persons, sudden and inexplicable massacres, and the proliferation of his organization's bloodmoney: Dragonflare. He became synonymous with 'Satan' in nineteen different languages across four continents and in almost every major city in the Western Hemisphere. He became the thing of conspiracy theories….and just about everyone in the brother who has suggested that some sort of criminal element has been burrowing into the government and secret societies of the world over the last three decades."
He leans against a desk inside a large office.
Behind him and against the wall is a mantle stocked to the brim with glistening daggers and knives.
All ornate in structure.
With decorative hilts.
But he only twirls one dagger in his grasp.
One stained with a long-dead woman's blood.
He takes a deep breath.
He wanders over to the windows.
He gazes out onto the City.
July Fourth.
Fireworks.
And in their explosions, an old fire akin to the smokestacks of some forgotten youth shimmer in his cold, glass eyes.
And he doesn't twitch.
"This is a man who—up until his bloody disappearance months ago…commanded more personnel, more units of firepower, and more money and funds than the last three U.S. Brigadier Generals combined. Quite essentially, he has and—whether he's accounted for or not—still does rule half of the modern world without any of us regularly knowing it."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"His name is Dagger," the Messenger said. He smiled gently. "He is alive. And he is coming back….to lay waste to this City."
Silence.
The Titans and I glanced at the Messenger….then across the smoky office toward the man at the desk.
"………," Commissioner Decker blinked at the asian teen. "……..that's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard."
We all winced heavily. Even Raven.
But the Messenger seemed calm. He merely folded his hands together, leaned his head to the side, and said: "You sound remarkably dubious."
"And you're remarkably ass-backwards for coming to me short-noticed with all this hogwash," the Commissioner grumbled. "And it goes without saying that I don't know who in the Hell you are. Did the tour bus drop you off at the wrong stop this far from Okinawa?"
"Uhm….C-Commissioner?" the Boy Wonder waved.
"Robin?! Who is this guy?!?!" Decker cackled with waving hands. "First of all, why did you kids let him into my office. And second…how quickly can I kick his scrawny little ass out of here!!"
"Did you even hear a word that he said?"
"I'll have you know…," Decker leaned forward with a pointing finger. "…that ever since Slade bit the dust—and apparently Dagger too—we've had every social and political analyst under the sun working with investigators at the razed site of Dagger's former hideout. A whole motherload of background checks were done into the shady man's career. His proliferation of Dragonflare. Possible connections with Intergang. The Slade factor."
"And??" Starfire leaned forward.
"There's nothing left on this creep, you got it? The meat of the matter left when smokey over there dropped him into the soon-to-be-enflamed city streets of July Fifth!"
I raised an eyebrow over my shades.
"It's taken over one hundred specialists and scholars over four months to determine this…," Decker leaned back. "I'm not gonna throw it out the window because some Massager gives me this new paranoid story!"
"Messenger," the teen smirked.
"Whatever. I swear…these names are popping up everywhere. What's your superpower, kid? AP Calculus? Or just being a pain in the ass superhero wannabe? I bet you get honors in the latter."
Surprisingly, the Messenger giggled. He smiled over at Tempest. "I could listen to him all day."
"I couldn't."
"Commissioner……," Robin stood up, trying to keep his cool. "Would you please be a little open minded? We've given what this visitor has had to say quite a lot of thought. We believed it was important to bring him to this meeting. He has some very insightful things to shed upon this situation with the prison bombing, Dagger, and more. To say the least…he………gets around a lot."
"I need proof, Robin…," Decker mumbled. "After three days straight of having to deal with Viper, I've been sorely reminded of how solid evidence in the heat of a chase for answers spares……lives……" Decker lit a cigarette, took a puff, and exhaled: "……I can deal with just so many teenagers in spandex or whatnot. At least you seven punks, I trust. You've kinda sorta earned it by….oh…..I dunno…..risking your lives for the common good!! Now…when shortstop like Junior Bread over here waltzes in and starts spoutin' off random chicken shit like a good wolf crier…..well…how am I to take that? Seriously? I'm too busy with things right now to be bothered by that."
"Yeah…," Beast Boy muttered. "Like basking in the glory of how you offed Viper—"
Raven nudged him.
"Oof!!" Beast Boy winced.
The rest of us sweatdropped.
"…………..," Decker glared. He took another puff of his cigarette. "Tip the glass, kid. Keep tipping the glass…."
"I know this is all much to absorb, especially all at one time….," Raven began. "But after all this time of working together, we imagined that you would trust us, Decker. We imagined that you would trust us to not bring a fake story to you, but instead something legitimately warranting our concern in such a fashion that we believe it must warrant yours."
"And just what's the hook, line, and sinker in this situation, milady?" Decker cackled. "That…That….some knife twirling bozo has been ruling the western world, implementing a criminal conspiracy, and practically owning the same damn City I've been fighting to protect through the law all these years?? That…Th-That the man died….but didn't die…or at least is alive now…and is coming back to take over the City that we didn't know he once 'had'….all through the use of some tripartite criminal underground agreement thing which—I might mention—has not been properly labeled yet????"
"Actually…..there is a name for the group," the Messenger smiled. "They go by 'Triangular'."
"Oooh! 'Triangular'! Now that's a new one! The Hell is that? Some sort of new lesbian fraternity game??"
Cyborg chuckled.
Raven glared at him.
He cleared his throat. "Ahem….s-sorry…."
Raven sighed and looked across the room. "Robin???"
The Boy Wonder rubbed his eyemask. "Look….Decker…..would it hurt to at a few things here? We'll go over what you found at the Zanzibar Piers….and then we'll just let you hear what the Messenger has to say. He has some certifiable points of interests throughout the City where traces of Dragonflare may be found. And once found, they can point out movements of criminal influence under Dagger's control and—"
"Oh, we'll go over the Zanzibar Piers reports," Decker pointed at the Messenger. "But only if he skedaddles! It's between me and prestiged vigilantes alone, got it?"
"But….dude….," Beast Boy hopped in his seat. "What about what this guy's got to say about the Dragonflare—"
"What about it?? In the words of Gary Cooper, bullshit!"
"……Gary Cooper never said—"
"Get him outta here!!!!"
"………….," the Messenger slowly smiled. The Messenger slowly stood up from his seat. The Messenger slowly bowed his head. "Very well. Commissioner. I do hope you have a good day. And I wish you good luck on your searches and recent endeavors."
"……..," Decker blinked. "Yeah…uh….thanks. Now beat it."
The Messenger winked. "I'll be seeing you later." He turned and left the office.
"The Hell does that mean?"
I bit my lip. I looked after the messenger. A beat. I stood up, bowed my head with a simper, turned, and exited the office in pursuit of the asian teen.
"H-Hey!! Hey hey hey!!" Decker half-stood and pointed. "Where're you going?? You're a Titan, kid! I want you in on this! That's right! YOU!!"
"Too late…," Raven droned. "He's gone."
"Y'all just gonna let him take off like that? During an important meeting?"
"He and the Messenger….h-have been through a lot together….," Starfire stammered. "Word has it that the Messenger clued Noir in on Slade's deadly plans for us well in advance of the Wyldecarde days…."
"……," Decker leaned his head to the side. "Is that so?"
Starfire bit her lip.
Robin nodded.
"Well….," the Commissioner grumbled and rummaged his hands across his desktop. "…that was another time, another place." He kept rummaging. His brow furrowed. "Where the Hell are those….—"
A beat.
He grumbled. He shouted: "LIEUTENANT!!"
"R-Right behind you, sir."
The Commissioner jumped in his seat and turned around to see the Lieutenant standing behind his chair the entire time. "Sheesh! Don't do that."
"I-I wasn't trying to do anything, si—"
"Fetch the Zanzibar reports. Let's get this friggin' show on the road."
"Right away, sir."
As the Lieutenant paced across the high-level department offices and the Commissioner began his speech, Raven glanced aside. Her eyes searching beyond the rows of cubicles and office walls.
"…….."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
The Messenger and I stood atop the edge of the helipad on the police department building's rooftop.
We gazed out onto the City beyond.
The central downtown district stretched high above and before us.
As the Sun stretched into the mid afternoon of the early November day, we both took a deep breath of Autumn.
The Messenger more so.
"Ahhh…..have I ever told you—Noir—just how obscenely beautiful this City is?"
I smiled gently. I gazed outward some more.
"When you work hard…..when you work very hard to preserve something…it just magnifies your love for it tenfold, doesn't it?"
I scratched my neck, sighing. Staring at the skyline.
"Decker's an obstinate man. But he is also a passionate man. He's lost so many innocent lives to the evils that would divide his City apart…," the Messenger spoke. "I'm sure he's too gruff and John Waynesque to admit it in person…but he has an awful lot of love to go around." A beat. "Hehehehehehehe," he suddenly giggled.
"????" I looked at him strange.
He dug his hands into his sweatjacket's pockets and smirked. "Not only am I a cross-dimensional traveler, I'm also a hippie!"
I snickered breathily.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh yeah……..teenage asian hippie….," the Messenger murmured as he stared at Kobayashi Tower. Wayne Enterprises. The Titans' Tower in the distance. "……Dagger does not know what passion is."
"………"
"He is as cold and methodical as gravity. He sees where the joints in the structures of all clay and iron statues alike falter, and he strikes directly at them. And this City….as we speak…..is one bigass monument with clay feet. Dagger has a motherload of boulders to roll down the proverbial hillside. I think I've almost convinced the Titans to hear me out. But Decker…..that man is a hero and he's an adult. And we all know what adults are like, much less heroes."
I shrugged.
"Hey….I'm not saying that Decker is a bad man…," the Messenger paced along the helipad and gestured. "He's just playing hard to get……..with a can of arsenic. But all in good time. I tend to have ways of appealing to the lonely, angsty goth girl in all of us……" A beat. "…..that last part was a joke."
I nodded blindly, my eyes affixed to the city skyline. Or at least, I tried to keep it affixed to the city skyline. My mind was wandering. And my mind was wandering towards---
The Messenger stepped in front of me. "I know what you're thinking, Noir….," he uttered solemnly. "If I know so much about Dagger….about the way he works…..about what he's done and what he's planning to….do I also know exactly what role he played in your bloody past?"
I winced.
I bit my teeth.
Exactly.
The Messenger ran a hand through his spikey, green-highlighted hair. "The fact is…Noir…..I don't know you. I don't know you anymore than you know me. Granted, I know the things that matter to you. I know how to help you improve some of the things in your life and make a difference for both yourself and the ones whom you love. But I simply don't know who you are or how you became that which you are or any of the above. You've always known about your past….with just a few things missing here and there…but not enough for you to have a distorted picture. Everything that you went through….the pain and torture and loneliness is all must have been…..it's all crystal clean and clear and laid out before you like a carpet of gemstones. And I bet it just cuts your bare feet to walk across it. So you had to find new grounds. And you had to find new shoes. And before you knew it, you stopped looking at the floor to see a piece of the sky again and here was this cityscape. These majestic buildings. The Titan's Tower in the distance. And….eventually…family."
I took a deep breath, not looking at him.
He shuffled over to my side and stared out alongside me.
"If I could tell you everything, Noir. I would. I would tell you how Dagger got involved with the same thing that took away your eyes and trashed apart the entire School of the Spectrum. But there are things that you know and you hold to heart that put you way ahead of the game where I'm concerned. And who am I to dictate to you your own past? I've always been and shall always be concerned with the future…..and the things that I know most assuredly about the future. And I know for a fact that this City is becoming a battleground. It can be any moment now. The Dragonflare is it, Noir. Wherever Dagger has gone, that chemical has gone first. And it's not just a deadly narcotic, Noir. It's like….l-like a controlling agent. Something the underground despot has used to move and motivate everyone under his regime. It's like the lines in the sand. The strategy markers of his invasionary scheme. They must be investigated. But I don't have the power. And the Titans don't have the quantity. Decker's not fooled if he's being treated as a hero after the demise of Viper. He is important to this City. He, the Titans, and I must work together….to minimalize the bloodshed ahead. Then….and only then….can we all be granted a day longer to live in which—together—we might explore some of these mysteries that haunt our past….even if the past is the thing that haunts the most."
"…………………."
The Messenger gazed down. I realized he was looking at my metal left arm.
"Do you remember it, Noir?"
"???" I looked at him.
He smiled. "Do you remember the sound?"
A beat.
I slowly nodded…a tiny grin.
He took a breath. "Then surely you know….that all things are possible….even in the greatest shadow of adversity. For adversity is as much a silly illusion as benevolence."
I slowly nodded.
"Then there's nothing concrete stopping me….," Noir smiled, "….from getting us into the next phase."
He touched his watch.
I blinked.
And he was gone.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-
That late afternoon.
As the Sun was beginning to set…
Decker walked out of front entrance to the police department.
He was flanked by the Lieutenant, the Titans, and I.
A crowd of citizens saw us and started cheering and flocking over.
Raven rolled her eyes white Beast Boy waved back, grinning.
"So this is what I propose…," the Commissioner spoke. "…we all gather together early in the morning at the prison's Omega Wing and do a thorough, in-depth examination of the damaged premises. We'll put our collective heads together—both adult and hormonal—and hopefully come up with some more conclusive directions to take the investigation. In the meantime, Robin, I'll leave the Zanzibar Piers suspects at your disposal to investigate if need be…..though I seriously doubt there's any more vital information on their behalf to give. But Allah never knows…you've surprised me in the past."
"I'll be more than happy to surprise you again, sir," Robin said…a little smugly.
"Good. And keep Tyko with you…he's good at sensors……and stuff."
"Cyborg!!"
More cheers.
More whistles.
More waving hands from the crowd.
The Commissioner grunted. "Lieutenant…see what you can do about kicking these proverbial mongrels in the rear end. I swear…everywhere you Titans go, your fan clubs are sure to follow."
"Uhm….actually s-sir….," the Lieutenant simpered.
"They're here for you, Commissioner," Raven droned.
"…….????" Decker looked over.
The crowd waved and cheered some more.
Decker exhaled: "Friggin' fantastic….," he shook his head and headed for his car. "I'm off like an Antarctic torch."
"Feel free to contact us if you have a change of plans, Commissioner!" Cyborg waved.
"Why would I??" Decker looked out as he stepped into his driver's seat. "I said we're going to the prison tomorrow, so we're frickin' going to the prison tomorrow!"
"Sure….my bad….," Cyborg smugly smirked.
Robin bit his lip.
"………….," Decker sighed. "Damn kids."
He shut his door, turned on his engine, and drove down the sunlit road.
The crowd gradually dispersed.
"Dude…..," Beast Boy sniffed. "I think something in me just died…."
Tempest stood beside him, his arms crossed. "It's called sperm, my friend….," he patted the green elf on the head and winked. "Get used to it." He walked down the street.
"Hey! Where're you going?" Beast Boy called.
Tempest walked backwards for a moment. "I'd promised I……would pay someone a visit….," Tempest smirked.
I looked at Tempest. I looked at the others. I cleared my throat and hand-signed in Robin's direction: 'Me too.' I smirked and blurred down the opposite end of the street.
Beast Boy sighed to himself, turned into a green….blue jay, and flew away.
Robin shrugged. "Whatever….as long as we all get some sleep for the research tomorrow."
"They cannot hear you, Robin," Starfire said.
"Ah…well…screw it then. Come on, Starfire. Let's go."
She smiled slightly as the two wandered southward.
"…………….."
"…………….."
Cyborg and Raven looked at each other.
A beat.
"………………"
"………………"
They looked away.
"…………………………………"
They spontaneously and simultaneously spun towards each other.
"How about some pizza?" . "How about going out for tea?"
A beat.
They both simpered.
"Tea sounds great!" . "Pizza is fine."
A beat.
An even longer beat.
"Starbucks?" Cyborg muttered with a sweatdrop.
"Sure," Raven droned.
And they both walked to the T-Car.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"No way. Are you kidding me? He actually joined you guys?!?!"
"Pfft. Don't make such a big deal about it. I'm surprised Lillian, Antoine, or Bonnie hadn't told you already or something. Lord knows they're tickled pink with it."
"And by all means, they should be! Was Jack there too?"
"Yessss, Karen. Jack was there. Now…for the reason I asked to see you—"
"Eeeee!! This is too unreal! You're—like—the luckiest girl in the world, Lindsay!"
"Hey! Don't talk like that! He just….I guess….needed some non super-powered kids to hang out with. Who can blame him for that? Plus, he's from the sea and stuff…and…I-I'm more than happy to show him what surface-dweller life is like. You know that he can talk to animals using telepathy? And…his culture considers seaweed to be as fine and as delectable as silk and---are you listening to me?"
"Did you touch him?"
"I—huh?"
"Ya know. Did you touch him?"
"Ew! Karen!! Shame on you!!"
"Hehehehehe….you are soooooooo lucky."
"I'm not like that! I just…I just…."
"You just what?"
"I dunno. He just looks like he needs a friend…and also a little lightening up."
"You don't say…."
"He's pretty tough and cynical up close….but I think he's really just nervous about being up here and away from the sea, deep down."
"Did you touch his hair, at least? Come on, Lindsay. Tell me you at least thought about it!"
"Karen, st-stop!!"
"Hehehehe…running your hands allllll throughhhhh his silkkkkky tresses…."
"Stop!! Hehehehe…you're making me flustered!!"
"God's Providence….a goody-goody girl likes you gets a super-hot sailor like that landing in her lap!"
"Hey! Ya know what? I saw his gills!"
"………did you now?"
"Huh?"
"Hehehehehehe…."
"Oh jeez…THEY WERE IN HIS NECK!! They were in his neck! Get your head out of the gutter!"
"Which neck are we talking about?"
"Ugh….you're pathetic."
Tempest nodded: "That goes around a lot."
Lindsay and Karen looked up from a table outside of Carman's diner that afternoon.
Tempest smirked. "Oh…and the gills are closer to my shoulders than my 'neck' per se…but good memory regardless, Lindsay."
The freckled teenager simpered. "I do my best…."
Tempest glanced over at the other girl. "So…Karen, is it? Tell me…besides gills, what personal fetishes do you have?"
"F-F-Fetishes…..?" the girl stammered.
Tempest's rich, white on black eyes glistened in the setting sun and a tiny burst of air kicked at his long black locks. "Yes….if I may ask?"
Karen's eyes rolled. "Nnngh…" PLOP! She fainted, her torso splayed across the table.
Lindsay uttered: "You're wearing your wetsuit again."
Tempest blinked at Lindsay. "So she noticed."
"You're right on time…," the girl stood up. "Is that a good habit or are you just showing off?"
Tempest shrugged. "There's no daylight's saving time in the Ocean. There is only—"
Lindsay nodded. "The migration patterns of local fish as biologically patterned with the changing seasons in the northern and southern hemisphere. I know. You only told us a few billion times when we all got together finally." She giggled.
Tempest scratched my head. "Which begs the question…where is your troupe of bread basket friends? This blonde thing is new…but I've lost track of the others."
Lindsay shrugged. "All out…doing their own thing. Lillian's working at her video store tonight. And the rest…Bonnie, Antoine, and Jack? They're doing something with the fellowship group. It was an impromptu meeting…so it's not like I'm missing out on prayer night or something."
Tempest blinked. "Prayer night?"
"I should invite you sometime," Lindsay winked. "It's really healing."
"Healing…..uh…..sure….," Tempest scratched his head. He glanced over at the still-dazed-and-confused-blonde. "What about that organism?"
"Hmmm?" Lindsay glanced over. "Oh! My bad….forgot what I asked her here for."
Lindsay whipped out a notepad and—in perfect waitressy fashion—scribbled a few words down with a single pen. She stuck the paper to Karen's deflated wrist.
It read: 'You owe me twenty bucks. Lindsay'
"What's that for?" Tempest asked.
"Oh….a bet."
He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of bet?"
She blushed. "An innocent one…come on, let's go."
She lead him down the street.
He gestured: "Where are we going exactly?……………And without your prayerful friends?"
"Just thought I'd show you something at Urban Faith Academy."
"Say Where?"
"My school. There's something going on tonight. Come on, it'll be fun!"
"Fun….heh….haven't used that word loosely in a long time."
"The Titans a bunch of stiff necks?"
"Eh…only half of them. I kinda admire it, really."
"Awww….too bad."
"Why bad?"
"Oh…just a matter of opinion."
"Well…let's see the matter of this opinion of yours, shall we?"
"Hehehehe…."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"Well….I-I'm glad you….came and….surprised us….w-with a visit….Noir! We're glad…for y-you're…..helping….h-hand!!"
"Jordan, honey."
"H-Huh??"
"His name is Jordan. He told us that one time, remember?"
"Oh….y-yeah…that's r-right…."
"I swear, your memory is so bad these days."
"Sweetie….can you…g-give us a second??"
"Hehehe….losing your breath there, Danny?"
Daniel struggled at his end of a heavy vanity that we were slowly carrying downstairs through their two-story condo/pawn shop. I wasn't even breaking a sweat. As much as I kept myself in constant meditation and battle-action every day with the Titans, moving furniture was no problem for me.
Daniel on the other hand…..well…..it had its fair share of hilarity.
"You need help?" Renee called from the top of the stairs where she observed our work. She was barely at seven months. Even looking at her straight-on from below, it was becoming visually obvious.
"N-No!!" Daniel cackled in mid-stride down the steps. "You just….r-rest your…..p-pretty little…..behind….sweetie…We've g-got this!!"
"In about a month," Renee smirked evilly, "All you'll find pretty on me is my behind, I bet."
"Oh Honey…d-don't say that….n-not when I'm lifting….heavy things!!"
Renee giggled.
I smiled.
"Just a little….f-further down the….stairs….Noir….h-hang in there!"
I mouthed: 'Jordan'.
"Nnnghh!!" he sweated.
Renee rolled her eyes.
The husband and I descended to the first floor, shuffled over into the rear stock room, and deposited the heavy vanity in a corner besides two dismantled bedposts and a small dresser we had just recently taken down together.
THWUMP!!
"Whew…..whew….whew…j-just….j-j-just one second…whew….whew…."
Daniel sweat, leaning against the vanity.
I smiled, leaned back against a wall, and folded my arms.
"You eat too many Doritos…."
"Oh please…d-don't talk about….food for…at least….two minutes….d-dear…..," Daniel waved a shaking hand.
Renee stepped leisurely down the stairs, her arms folded. "If you even call that food."
"Can't be any worse than the emergency take-outs I drive out for the last few nights."
I chuckled breathily.
Renee glanced at me with a sarcastic thinness of her eyes. "He's exaggerating. He always does this."
"And p-proud….of it t-too!"
"So were you exaggerating to me when you proposed down on one knee?"
"Sure th-thing…..honey!….All fourteen…karats of….e-exaggeration…."
"Hehehe….you're so pathetic, Danny. I love you."
"L-Love you too….n-now….will you l-let me roll over….a-and die now??"
"Nope. Not yet. There's still the coat rack and the computer desk to disassemble."
"I swear…wh-why did we ever….have a g-guest room….to begin with?"
Renee gestured: "I think it's because your grandmother was originally going to live with us."
"Y-Yeah…," Daniel ran a shaky hand through his hair. "It's a g-good thing she died f-first…"
"But now we get to transform it into a nursery!!" Renee did a little, ridiculous jig in place. "Heeee! I'm choosing the colors! I'm choosing the colors!"
"NO PASTELS!!"
"Awww….honey?"
"We still don't know if it's a boy or a girl yet. So NO PASTELS!!"
"It's not like I'm gonna choose to paint it jungle camouflage either!"
"I'm the one painting it…you just point and I shoot with the paint brush…," Daniel walked over and hugged her. "Got it?"
"Pfft…got it."
"No pffting me! I don't want you overexerting yourself! Leave all of the nursery work to me……or Noir as well, if he so spontaneously comes over and chooses to enslave himself again."
"Hehehehe."
Daniel smiled. He looked over my way. "Say…why don't we show you the layout we've got planned for the crib and diaper station and stuff?" A beat. He blinked. "Noir??" Another beat. "S-Say….Noir?"
"………..," I was staring into the stockroom. A claustrophobic place. But familiar all the same. In my head, I envisioned a cot in the corner where the shadows lay. The image of a desk splattered with welding equipment, radio junk parts, and jagged metal playing cards flew through my head. I envisioned a dark-haired stranger dressed in a metal mesh outfit trying his futile best to sleep in the corner…interrupted every now and then by a mute battle with sobs. Dark goggles hung off the window latch to the rear alleyway from a leather strap….
"Jordan??"
I snapped out of it.
My black eyes blinked under my shades as I turned about and smiled up at Renee and Daniel.
The two were already halfway up the stairs. "Come on! Let's show you!"
I nodded and briskly walked up, a relaxed sigh exhaling through my nostrils….
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"Well, Mr. Beast Boy, your visit here is a little unexpected. But regardless, it feels good to see you again. Now…don't take that the wrong way since—after all—I am a holographic representation of a digital construct and I can't truly possess what biological souls would call 'feelings' anymore and—"
"Dude…," the changeling held up a hand, silencing the flickering visage of Simon Stone on the nearby pedestal. The elf smiled kindly. "It's okay. Just saying 'what's up would have sufficed'."
The hologram simpered and shrugged. "What's up?"
"How's it hanging?"
"Give me some skin!"
Beast Boy shot his hand towards the tiny hologram.
His wrist flew through the flickering image.
"Heh…very funny dude," Beast Boy rolled his eyes.
The African American hologram smiled and folded his arms. "Now….how can I help you today?"
"You can start by opening the door in front of me."
"Hmm? Oh! I do apologize…of course you have clearance, Mr. Logan!" the hologram flicked his wrist.
The huge metal doors at the end of the brightly lit hallway in Phaser Labs opened with a whirring sound.
Beast Boy gently walked in. The hologram flickered from pedestal to pedestal to keep up with the changeling.
"They've certainly upgraded you a bit….," Beast Boy remarked. He gazed at scientists and lab technicians and experiment stations as he sauntered deeper and deeper into the laboratory. "Look at you! Mr. Speedy…I swear…."
"Indeed," Simon Stone said. He jumped from pedestal to pedestal. "Indeed." "Indeed!" He paused on a huge platform that projected him as life-sized. He looked down at the green elf, his brown brow bright. "I have been promoted further into the mainframe of the laboratory computer. I am now in charge of all automatic, digital functions and security protocols of this facility. I basically keep everything in check and everyone safe."
"Wow….talk about an ego boost."
"That would only matter if I still had a—"
Beast Boy cleared his throat. "I don't know how Cyborg is related to you sometimes, ya know that?"
"Yes, I do suppose the flesh and blood part gets a little gray…"
The changeling turned. He walked down a thin corridor.
The hologram looked on for a moment…then flickered…then followed behind. "Are you here for any specific reason, young one?"
"Not a reason. A person."
"Ah…but of course."
"I think….I-I think it's better for her here."
"Do you truly think so?"
"It's not so………..dusty."
"Oh, you never quite can be sure about that…," Simon Stone smirked amidst flickering. "…some of these lab technicians, I swear to Stephen Hawkings! Leave them alone for five minutes and they become absolute slackers when it comes to cleaning up the work area!"
"She's protected, right?"
"Pardon?"
"The plastic sheath. It's—"
"Never left her position."
Beast Boy exhaled. "That's good to hear…"
Schwissh!!
A pair of doors to the left opened.
Beast Boy gazed in.
Rachel Mendez jumped back. "Ay….pardon….I-I did not expect you…"
"S'ok…," Beast Boy smiled weakly. "I only beat your brains in when you're bad."
She smiled crookedly, cleared her throat, and gestured into the room: "Puede ir adentro."
"Thanks," he nodded and walked in.
The cybernetic woman exchanged glances with Simon Stone's visage.
In the meantime, Beast Boy wandered in. His eyes remained locked fixedly ahead, although he did finally glance to his left and say: "Ah….you're here too, dude."
"By all means…fine lad…," Jean-Luc Blair uttered. He was running a system diagnostic with his half-robotic arms. A bald head reflected the shimmering lights of the computer console before him. "Phaser Labs is our humble abode now. We owe our lives to it. And we spend our lives making things a lot better for this City….though it is hardly compensation."
"It'll do…," Beast Boy smirked. He turned and stood in front of a plastic cylinder. "After all…you help take care of her……"
Rachel and the hologram stood behind him.
Beast Boy took a breath. He lowered to his knees and placed a small but quaint wreath of flowers down at the feet of the plastic tube. He took a deep breath. He smiled painfully: "H-Hey, Terra. I hope you've been enjoying the new digs. I know it's not quite that….'earthy'…..but I'm sure you'll grow to love it. After all, you liked the Tower better than the cave. R-Right?"
Stone eyes stared towards the ceiling, glazed.
Granite arms stretched out for ever.
"Hey….um….," Beast Boy stood up and scratched the back of his head. "We've been visited by this cool kid. He calls himself the Messenger. I like his style. He's funny….smart…..though a little bit on the fruity side. Ahem. But still, I think you'd enjoy meeting him. Although I get the feeling he's not the sort to stick around for long. But….j-just his friendliness and sunshiney smile and embrace of life….well….it reminds me of you a bit. Only….heh….y-you were so much more….erm…..huggable??" Beast Boy winded. He looked at her.
Stone hair froze in place. Unmoving.
"Yup…huggable…eh heh heh heh heh….," Beast Boy swallowed. A beat. He leaned against the plastic and ran his finger across a smudge on the transparent surface. He took a shuddering breath. "Terra….hang tight. Okay? Not j-just for yourself. But for that…th-that special someone…..ya know…..inside of you…."
Simon Stone and the recuperating cyborgs glanced aside.
"We're working on a way to get you out of there. We never stopped. Not once. I want you to hang in there, Terra. I want you to hang in because….because……," Beast Boy sniffed. "Things are….g-getting really scary again. It feels like….almost l-like Slade's back. There's evil stuff in the world again. And I don't want you having to see it. And at the same time, I don't want you having to suffer from it. So h-hang in there, Terra. I promise you….I promise you on my parents' name….I will see to your safety. To all of your safety. Even if….even if it means my not having to see you again…."
Simon's hologram glanced up, blinking.
Beast Boy's head hung, his hand remained resting against the plastic. He shook: "As long as you make it out of that. I'll be fine….I'll be…..fine….."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"Where have Cyborg and Raven departed to??"
"Probably out to eat somewhere, Star."
"Truly?"
"Yeah. They tend to do that." Robin remarked while staring out the window, his back to the sofa's rear. "At least nowadays."
"Oh…I see….and Beast Boy?"
"Off to Phaser Labs most likely to check on….on….y-you know who."
"Indeed." A long pause. "Tempest and Noir?"
Robin sighed and ran a hand through his spiked hair. "I dunno, Star. How should I know?"
She drifted over across the Main Room, her hands held together. "I do apologize. I was merely desiring to inquire as to their whereabouts. If you are not appreciative of my interrogatory comments, I shall leave you presently…"
"I'm fine, Star…," Robin exhaled. "Ya know….I'm not half as closed off as I used to be."
"Do you truly think so, Robin?"
"………"
She blushed. "Erm…that did not quite come out the way I desired it too."
He chuckled somewhat, surprising her. "It's okay, Star. It's true. I'm….I'm different."
"In what fashion does Robin think that Robin is being different?" she leaned back beside him.
He shrugged without looking at her. His eyemask was full of the City. "I'm…..actually listening to total and complete strangers. The only reason I'm making myself go ahead with the Messenger's word is that he seems pretty adamant and Noir trusts him. If this were a year ago, I wouldn't have so much as looked at this prophet of doom. I'd have brushed him off as a punk…which he still may be. I almost wonder….are my defenses slipping? Jeez…I dunno…."
"Could it be that you are becoming more trusting, independent of your level of defenses?" she smiled optimistically.
"My head doesn't work that way."
"Then in what fashion does your cranium function?"
"Trust is part of crime fighting. But when you're crime fighting, you only have so many people to deal with. And most of them are bad. When you're surrounded by bad people…it's hard to consider 'trusting' a measurable effect towards success."
"But I do not believe you are so surrounded by bad people, Robin…," Starfire gently placed her hand on his glove. "You are surrounded by friends, are you not?"
He glanced down. He gazed at her hand on his. He didn't try to move it. "I….I guess I wasn't quite adapted to teamwork as I thought I would be when I founded the Titans with Robin. Hell…Beast Boy would have done a better job than I did. I mean….turns out he's had experience. Did you know he was with the Doom Patrol before joining us?"
"Who?"
"Never mind…," Robin grumbled and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I just wish…..sometimes….you had another leader to look up to beside me. Someone more….assured of himself. Someone who didn't have to have…..have a split identity…."
She seemed to gaze extra long at his mask for a moment. Her gaze fell to his lips. "Robin…I respect who you are. And at the same time, I respect who you are not. They are both part of the whole. They are both part of the same person I admire." She smiled gently. "Both halves of you…secret or superficial….are all part of Robin. I would not choose another leader for an instant."
He simpered somewhat. "You are….so very trusting, Starfire."
She giggled gently before responding: "Merely because you are so very kind, Robin."
"If you say so…."
"Mmmm….but I do."
A beat.
Robin bit his lip. "Though….I think the leadership's beyond me now."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"I trust Decker and all. But suddenly, I feel split. I don't know who to trust more….him or the Messenger?"
"The Messenger is quite adamant that he shall convince Decker into seeing the proposed threat of Dagger at hand, correct?"
"Yes….but I hate this conflict," Robin grumbled. "And this is coming from someone who typically is okay with conflict."
"True."
"I want to feel….sure of something. I want to know where to go. Where I can toss my birdarang. Most of all…I want to be able to make the decision of where to go and what to do. But for once….I feel completely clueless. And because of me…I feel….that the Titans are completely clueless. And as much as Decker has been taking the reins lately and the Messenger has stuck his head into all of this, I just don't feel secure…..I don't feel like I should be giving anything away. Especially after all that's happened with Viper. And the prison. And now……Dagger……."
"I do not feel helpless, Robin…."
He glanced at her. "Really now…."
She shook her head.
"Because I'm here or something?"
She giggled. She leaned on him. "That is also true…but that was not the reason I was going to give."
"Then what was your reason, Star?"
She took a deep breath as she leaned against him. Her eyes gazed out onto the City. Whole. Clean. Complete. "We have all survived so much. And against all odds. Foolish as the sentiment may be….I have complete faith that we can face any challenge or evil that may rear its defiling head against us."
"You'd make a perfect motivational speaker, Star."
A beat.
"I would make…..a lot of perfect other things too….R-Robin…….do you think so?"
He was mute.
A beat.
"With the Tower….as empty as this. And the two of us alone in it…….it almost feels like we are in a married household, does it not?"
Robin blinked under his mask. He blushed furiously. "Uhm……"
"Hmmm?" she smiled at him.
"I suppose…..," Robin scratched his neck. He simpered and managed: "All we'd need is Nova'm and Beast Boy, and then we could tell the neighbors we're a nuclear family. We'd have a kid and a dog."
"Hehehehehehehe!!" she squeezed him in a hug. "Tooooooo cuuuuuute….."
"Y-Yeah…..," he swallowed…suddenly distracted away from the distant skyline of the City. "Cute…."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
The crowd roared and cheered.
Echoing chants filled the modestly large gym.
Two teams…one full of light jerseys and the other full of dark….
They dribbled the ball up and down the hardwood floor.
Struggling around the baskets.
Taking shots.
Missing.
Taking more shorts.
Driving into the hole.
Finally scoring.
And yielding forth monstrous roars of praise.
Especially for the home team.
Urban Faith Academy.
Tempest had his fingers plugged into his ears. He winced.
"Woohoo!" Lindsay waved her arms and half-stood. "Way to go…uhm…uhm….J-Jersey Number Seven! Yeah!!"
"Has the noise stopped yet?" Tempest asked.
"Come on, don't you think this is fun?"
"What??"
"I said, don't you think this his—Hey! Take your fingers out of your ears!"
Tempest shakily obeyed. "They do seem to take an awful lot of fun in punishing that poor orange sponge."
"No…that's the basketball."
"Oh…I see….," Tempest nodded. A beat. "So…what crimes has the sponge committed?"
"Don't you get it?" Lindsay giggled and gestured. "It's a game!"
"Ah yes…a game…," Tempest nodded. "Atlanteans have that."
"You don't say?"
"Yup. But instead of 'basketballs' you've got harpoons and walrus bladders. Want me to continue?"
"Er….n-no, actually."
"Didn't think so."
"But aren't you thrilled?" Lindsay cheered again as another basket was scored. The two sat in the middle row of bleachers towards the home team's side of the court. "This is surface people's life! This is how you have fun! You mean to tell me that the Titans haven't brought you to one ball game?"
"Sometimes—I've noticed—Beast Boy likes to spontaneously roll himself into teammates in the form of an armadillo, and when Raven's around all it takes is just one telekinetically charged mallet to take aim and—"
"Do you ever want to talk about yourself?" she asked.
Tempest blinked. He spoke above the noise of the crowd: "But wasn't I just—"
"You were talking about the Titans," she shook her head. "What of yourself?"
He scratched his black head of hair. He uttered: "Uh….well…..you see….."
She looked at him quietly. Patiently. A calm, freckled face.
He simpered. "The Titans……they are me now. At least…the me that I am now. I came to this City a different person than what I used to be."
"Then the person I've happened to meet with ever so often and am now speaking to is…"
"A new Atlantean," Tempest said. "At least…not the same fish-neighbor that he was before hand. And…I think it's better that way. There are many things worth….leaving behind."
"Like what?"
He looked at her funny. He smirked: "Now, if I told you I wouldn't have technically left them behind, now would I?"
"Just asking," Lindsay said, her eyes trailing the basketball across the court. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrogate. I just—"
"Curiosity?"
"Yeah…but to a stone's throw."
"Do tell…"
She looked at him sideways. An interested smirk. "What in the world….EVER….possessed you to talk to a girl like me?"
"Hmmm?" he blinked. "You're talking to me right now, aren't you?"
"You know what I mean."
"No I don't," Tempest exhaled. "I'm what Cyborg would call a 'dense jellyfish'. Please elaborate, and I might be of more….mental service to you."
"A Titan just doesn't…ya know…..," she glanced off.
"Hmmm?"
She toyed with a lock of stringy brown hair. Her eyes trailed. "….a Titan doesn't just….visit an ordinary gir—er citizen….more than once….and make friends."
"Friends? So that's what we are!" Tempest gasped.
She bit her lip. "Uhm…."
"I've been completely in the dark, but not now thanks to you," he extended a hand. "Hello, friend."
She blinked. She simpered. She took his hand. "Hello…."
They shook.
He winked: "Well…that's one."
She pouted. "Only one?"
"Well…one and a half….," Tempest looked out at the basketball game. "I suppose that green armadillo back at the Tower is starting to count for something."
"Hehehehe….," she giggled.
He glanced at her through the corner of his eyes, then back at the game. Something washed over his lips, and his face found something solemn to sink in. A beat and a sigh and he said: "Say…Lindsay…."
"Yeah?"
"I've only been in this City for so long…and I know this sounds wyrd coming from a Titan…..but….."
"Try me. I've seen wyrder things than you in my days."
"Uh…okay."
"Hehe."
"Ahem…," he leaned towards her and spoke closely enough to her ear so that she could hear it over the game without him having to be too loud. "Back when Slade and Dagger were out and about….those two despots of evil in this City…..how did the people feel?"
She blinked. "Um…..'the people'??"
"You. Citizens. Everyday habitants of…this City. Were you…..frightened?"
She bit her lip some.
Tempest took a breath and gazed down into the stands. "You don't have to answer that if it's too uncomfortable."
"Discomfort is a way of life…," Lindsay simpered. "No matter what my mother says."
"What does your mother say?"
"Never mind," she shook her head. "What was the question again? Slade? Dagger? Fear?"
"Something along those lines…."
"Uhm…yeah…it was scary, Tempest. V-Very scary, in fact. There were bombs going off all across the City. Innocent people were at risk of dying. We were all scared. We set up prayer sessions here at the Academy…asking God to intervene. Not just for the victims, but also for the Titans…that they might track down the enemy and put an end to his actions….and………..," Lindsay's voice trailed as her eyes trailed and everything fell on Tempest.
Tempest with a raised eyebrow of curiosity.
"Something wrong?"
"N-No…," he smiled. Go on.
"……," she glanced at him sideways. Cleared her throat. And went on: "I remember lonely nights with my family, up late, hands held together….asking for God's deliverance. I don't think we ever prayed harder than we did then. And….and it helped me. It really did. My friends as well." She smiled somewhat. "And you know what? That faith was rewarded. At least, I think so. Slade and Dagger were stopped. It was a miracle….especially after all that had happened. It's taught me to expect a lot more out of life than just helpless adversities."
"You're very religious, aren't you?"
"Nooooooo," she gasped. Then giggled and playfully shoved Tempest.
He looked at his shoulder…then at her. Eyebrow still raised.
"It's one thing to be afraid….but I believe that there are greater things in this world—in this life than Destruction…," Lindsay said. "I believe that when God created the world…He meant it to be the exact same thing he forged it to be. Something good. Something wonderful. With or without the taint of sin…there's a divine purpose for everyone and everything. And evil—I am convinced—will not win in the end. The deaths of Slade and Dagger only helped me see that all the more."
"Only their deaths?" Tempest asked, somewhat quietly.
She slowly shook her head. "No….nah….not just because of trivial things…," she looked at him and smiled warmly. "Faith is something you just have….have to feel. I suppose. That's why I never can really understand televangelists and stuff like that. And I bet that sounds wyrd coming from me…."
"What's a televangelist?"
She seemed to ignore him: "Lives aren't 'saved' by dialing a number and talking to someone over the phone. You have to be….touched by God. You have to feel His warmth. His divine presence. Like….Like arms dipping down from Heaven and sorta….holding you."
"And you've felt that?"
"I like to think so, yes….," she nodded. "Have you ever felt something like that?"
Tempest gazed off. A faint smile trailed on his lips. "I've…..felt warm arms before. But…erhm….," he glanced at her. "Not quite the same as you unless….."
"……..," Lindsay blinked at him.
He chuckled. "Heh heh heh….noooo….not the same as you."
"What?"
"Nothing…..I think you're very fortunate," he said.
"What? To have divine inspiration?"
"To have anything….," he mumbled, staring at the basketball game.
"……..," she stared at him. Her mouth slightly agape.
She would have said something……but the home team scored and bodies all around rose up loudly to snap her out of it.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"………….," Cyborg sat at the restaurant table, staring at a menu.
"………….," Raven sat across from him, staring at a menu.
"…………."
"…………."
Cyborg glanced up.
Raven glanced up.
A beat.
They returned to their menus.
"………….."
"………….."
Silence.
And….
The two snapped:
"Want me to handle the meal?" . "Want me to handle the meal?"
A blink.
"Y-You could just do the tip." . "You could just do the tip."
Another blink.
A pause.
"Dutch?" Raven raised an eyebrow.
Cyborg sighed and smiled tiredly. "Dutch….."
The two looked at their menus again.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
Vrrmmmmmmm………
Decker's car came to a stop inside the parking garage.
The engine cut off.
A beat.
The man pealed himself out of the vehicle, got his shirt caught in something, cursed mildly, yanked himself free, and locked his vehicle up by remote. He scratched his head, yawned, and walked towards the nearby stairwell.
His shoes echoed alone against the concrete floor of the interior levels.
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
The door to Decker's apartment opened.
The Commissioner sauntered in.
Blinking tiredly.
He locked the door behind him.
A beat.
He glanced down.
Envelopes.
He knelt down.
He examined them up close.
A beat.
"The Hell??" he blinked. "Fan mail?"
Silence.
"Nngh…," he tossed the haphazard envelopes into a nearby trash bin. "Probably friggin' anthrax…."
He walked over into the kitchen. He tossed his tie and belt over the back of a chair.
He shuffled over to his answering machine, all the while loosening his collar.
He pressed a button on the machine:
Beeeeeep!
'Greetings'.
'You have………one……hundred……and…………twenty……two……messages……'
Decker wandered over to the fridge, stopped, went bug-eyed, and did a double-take at the machine. "Say what?!?!"
He shuffled over.
'Six……twenty-two……A.M……'
Beeeeep!
'Hey! Commissioner! I'm George Ferguson……owner of Old Time's Hardware down on Twenty-Eighth and Main Street. I just gotta say……way to go, man! I mean……kicking Viper's ass like that—'
CLICK.
Decker's finger jammed on the search button.
A whining sound.
Then.
Beeeeep!
'Six……forty-nine……A.M.'
'Commissioner Decker? H-Hi. You may not know me. My name is Agnes Slone. I'm the head of the Mothers-For-Safe-Street-Crossing in the Western District. And I just want to say on behalf of all of us soccer moms that what you've done for the City is not only brave but exemplary and—'
CLICK!
THWACK!!!
Decker's fist slammed over the machine.
"Uh uh. No sir. Not tonight, losers. GET A LIFE!!!" He grumbled his way to a nearby window and flung it open to the air between skyscrapers outside. Cold November air drifted in. "I swear to frickin' God…this isn't my thing. I'm not about to become the next Donny Osmond……with a bullet proof vest."
He fumbled through a pack of cigarettes and produced a smoke. He lit it, then stood before the window. He seemed to breathe easier with the smoke filtering through his lungs.
"…………."
A few puffs later.
"…………..," he raised an eyebrow.
Part of the glass of the raised window was reflecting something.
Something green.
Something green and behind him.
"………….," Decker's eye narrowed.
His left hand crawled up onto a table with a cookie jar set to his left.
He twirled the cigarette in his right hand.
One spin…two spins….three….
"!!!!"
Decker flicked the cigarette out.
His left hand tossed open the lid to the cookie jar.
He shoved his right hand into it, pulled it out around the trigger of a revolver, and spun around with the weapon pointed straight out. "FREEZE!!"
"I was never very good at Russian Roulette," the Messenger smiled into the barrel. "I kept taking peaks into Gamepro Magazine and stealing cheat codes for the bullet chambers."
"…..," Decker panted and limply drew the gun down. He swallowed and uttered with a faint trace of growling: "How in the blue Hell did you get in here?"
"I followed the trail of cigarette crumbs and beat back the wolves," the Messenger shrugged. "I swear, Lumberjacks are rare in this urban forest come November."
"You're a teleporter, aren't you??" Decker pointed an angry finger. "No wait. You're one of them telepathic manipulator punks! I'm going to be attacked by a giant mushroom next, aren't I?"
"Is that a come on?"
"AREN'T I??"
"Hold your horses!" the Messenger chuckled. "Not unless you really want to, sir. I shall keep the mushrooms and teleportation devices at bay." He lowered his raised hands and smiled. "I only want to talk."
"Screw off…."
"Not on a first date."
"I mean scram!!" the Decker motioned as he faced the windows and put the revolver away. "I told you that I didn't want any of your nonsense back at the Department. And I still mean it! Got it? Now scram…."
The Messenger gestured: "I'm sure there's a great analogy involving a constipated anaconda on Christmas Eve that's just waiting to be compared to you and your stubbornness, Commissioner."
"Thanks. I'm flattered…," the man lit another cigarette. "Do you not understand the meaning of skedaddle? You've already cost me a cigarette, you're gradually costing me half of my blood pressure, and if you're not gone when I turn around in thirty seconds you'll be costing me a once-clean shoe up your ass!"
"Besides the fact that you've got the poetic eloquence of a toothless beaver…," the Messenger nodded his head. "….it's safe to say that you're a leading authority figure in this City. You're also pretty dang smart—from last I read up on you—and it would seem you've become a hero after surviving not one but TWO scrapes with Viper. Not an easy task, I grant you."
"I'm sure there's a point to all of this that doesn't involve me bitch-slapping you out the door?"
"The Titans are only seven people. At any second, you—Commissioner—would issue command over seven hundred. I have with me detailed information as to Dagger's plan of movement in this City upon his return, and to counteract such a situation…it would require much, much manpower…the likes of which seven superhumans aren't even enough to cover. For the City to be safe, all of its elite must be employed in the unanimous attack of meeting this dire threat. And who is more an epitome of the City's strength and standing than you, sir?"
"You don't have evidence of any sort, kid…," Decker grumbled over his shoulder. "And besides…I don't even have to look at you to know that you're just some vigilante wannabe punk with freakish powers who thinks that—on a whim—he can suddenly save the world."
"Naturally….," the Messenger smiled.
"That might work in Disneyland…but not here."
"And the Titans—"
"—have earned their places. So don't go there. And frankly…I don't know what could possibly have possessed them to be deluded so suddenly by a brown-nosing clown like you."
A beat.
Then….
"Commissioner….you must listen to me. You must take this chance."
"Heh….."
"Don't you think some things take faith? For the better of all things good?"
"No."
"Are you afraid to extend your own boundaries?"
"I'm not afraid of punching your face in if you keep questioning my methods!!" Decker puffed the last of his second smoke and groaned in frustration. "Is it enough that you barge your way into my apartment and attack me with a barrage of—"
"Were you smiling at yourself inwardly when you scared the ever living crap out of Alex Diotrephes?" the Messenger asked quietly.
"……………," Decker was silent.
The Messenger took a step forward, staring at the back of the official's head. "When you planted that prop gun to his head….and you saw him turn pale….and the pervert before you peeled away to reveal a ghost whose testimony and practical life had become putty in your hands……did you enjoy it?"
"…………..," slowly, Decker turned around. His eyes were narrow. His lips firm. "How do you know about that…..?"
"Not very good etiquette in treating witnesses….," the Messenger shook his head…taking another step forward. "Especially when exhibited by the Commissioner of the local police department himself. Very cruel and unusual punishment indeed….."
Decker frowned. "I did what I had to do. There was a killer on the loose. One that goes beyond any normal bearings of the law—"
"Try telling that to the good judges and officials of this City…," the Messenger sneered. "All good heroes must answer to the balance of morals. They wouldn't be too happy with you, Decker. They wouldn't be too happy with you one bit…"
"Look, you little shit….," Decker pointed with a hiss. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"
"Why did you cross the line, Decker?"
"Because if you are, I swear—"
"Why did you cross the line?!?!"
"MY MEN WERE DYING, ASSHOLE!!" Decker shouted. "The people of this city!! Innocent citizens were buying it by that bald shithead's silver sword!! So damn me to Hell if I crossed the line!!"
"It was still wrong, Commissioner…," the Messenger seethed. Something dark and painful flashed in his almond eyes as he took yet another step forward. He seemed twice as tall somehow. "It was still wrong and you know it. And in spite of how much you try to excuse it, it'll still gnaw at you! And it'll still fester! And you'll never forget how you broke the rules that one day to get some pathetic waste of existence to squeal!!"
"You want to know about memories that'll never go away?!?!" Decker snarled. "How about Judge Carson?!?! Warden Georgeton?!?! ALL THE DAMN BLOOD OF ALL THE LOST LIVES THAT ARE ON MY HANDS?!?!"
Swoosh—The Messenger suddenly blurred forward.
Decker blinked, and in doing so…he couldn't see where the asian teen's hands went until they struck him hard in the chest and thigh.
Wham!
Thwap!!!
The Messenger then brought his knee forward.
Whump!!
Decker fell helplessly to his back and slumped against the window sill.
GRIP!!!
The Messenger clutched him hard by the collar and shouted—snarling—into his face: "You have not begun to friggin' imagine the number of lives that will be on your hands if you don't do the right decision and cross that god damn line again right now, you filthy-ass coward!!! You know deep down inside you're only shittin' yourself when you give up an opportunity that I'm giving you!!!"
The Commissioner panted.
The Messenger was frowning. His nostrils flared. He practically spat: "You don't have to be a cowardly asshole, Decker. Yes…Viper is gone. But Dagger is here. Dagger is here and you must FACE HIM. And you won't be alone. The Titans will be there. I will be there. Just open your god damn eyes for once and throw away all your hellbent pride. You're not the hero yet. There's one last hump to go…."
"……………..," the Commissioner took a deep breath. He lay there in the grip of the Messenger as he slowly opened his lips and said: "Do you have….any idea….how many ways….I can grab you….and break your sorry-ass nose….from where we're lying….right now?"
"…………," the Messenger glared. "You're right…..I'm toast…..now…..you gonna do your worse or what?"
"………….," Decker slowly bore a frowning smile. "You…..You have guts….kid………Because……you lousy son of a bitch…..you're speaking my language."
"………….," the Messenger smiled.
"How do you do it?"
The Messenger stood up. "I know people," he said simply…calmly. His pleasant demeanor returned. "I know you. I know the Titans. And…..I know Dagger." He held his hand down for the Commissioner to pull himself up. "And I know what tools Dagger is using. And if we work together….we may find out what path Dagger is taking to royally f-up this City. And perhaps….we can lower the inevitable body count."
"…….," the Commissioner refused the Messenger's hand. Decker stood up on his own, brushed himself off, and glared down at the teen asian. "Where did you learn to move like that?"
"A wolverine taught me…," the Messenger smirked. "So….do we have a deal?"
A beat.
"No," Decker said.
The Messenger raised an eyebrow. "No?"
THWUMP!!!!
Decker shoved him down with a single kick.
The young man collapsed onto the kitchen tile, wincing.
Decker grinned, his arms folded. "Now we've got a deal…"
The Messenger simpered with a wince. "Splendid. It's people like you that make me glad Noir's my best friend in this dimension."
"Yeah, whatever. Go read a Playboy magazine…," Decker rubbed his temple and stared out of the window. "Tomorrow…when I rendezvous with the Titans….I'll see what we can do about your….'Dragonflare plan'."
"Sounds good to me," said the voice behind him.
"On one condition…," Decker suddenly grumbled. "You don't ever….EVER….pounce on me like that again. Especially in front of the Titans." He turned and looked over his shoulder. "You got me?"
But the Messenger was gone.
"……….," Decker turned and glared out the window again. He sighed. "Somehow….I think I'm gonna frickin' regret this…."
-T-T-T-T-T-T-
"So long, Jordan!!"
"Take it easy, Noir!"
"Thanks for all the help!"
"Keep in contact!"
"Till next time!"
Renee and Daniel waved from the storefront.
I smiled and waved back at them as I walked down the sidewalk in the cold air.
They went inside, shut the door, and locked the store behind them.
I turned and faced where I was walking.
A beat.
I paused.
"…….."
I tilted my head up towards the November sky.
The sun had set.
The sky was darkening.
The clouds parted.
And….
The first stars started to appear.
And in mimicking glory, pinpricks of light appeared across the urban horizon in answer to the heavens.
Kobayashi Tower stretched high above it all.
Searchlights from Bayside Plaza filled the air with an electric glow towards the Southeast.
And beyond, the shimmering sight of the Titans' Tower shone across the dark waters of the Bay.
And I shuddered.
And I shivered.
And I tried to ignore it by shoving my fists into my pockets.
How could anything……ANYTHING……terrible possibly happen to this Town?
A beat.
I sighed.
I walked home quietly, slowly, on my own.
My mind drifted somewhere between Ana and Kara and at some moment I found myself in bed with the lanterns of my room dying out and the gentle fumes of a sheathed sword lulling me to sleep.