Author's Note: Word of warning, quite a few spoilers for Trinity Crisis and Trinity Salvation. Nothing too major, but there are some Titan relevant plot points that are mentioned. Otherwise, enjoy.
Reflections
With a sharp nod of her head, Jinx took her leave, exiting the briefing room and heading towards the, ahem, dorms. With long strides, she made short work of the trek, moving past countless doors, through almost endless hallways, and all of it in eye-searing yellow.
H.I.V.E. might consider itself the best of the best, but in interior decorating it was an abject failure.
But she wasn't here because she wanted to spruce things up. She was here to get her team ready for their latest mission. For once, it wasn't because they were being loaned out to someone else. This time, it was H.I.V.E. all the way.
The rest of her team, the H.I.V.E. Five, once the number one team with a pristine record and all the skills to match, were already waiting for her. She had left word for them to be waiting and ready for her to return. After that one particular job, let's just say more than one had a chip on their shoulders.
The door to their quarters hissed open. Stepping in, she made no mind of the door sliding closed behind her. Her golden eyes scanned the immediate area. Once, she stayed in the best rooms this place had to offer, a sign of just how good they were. Of how much better they were compared to the others. One failure was all it took for a downgrade.
Once, each had their own private room. Now it was doubling up, with the disadvantage to the guys. Their gathering area, a living and briefing room all in one, complete with all the bells and whistles that most teens would consider paradise was much, much smaller now. Game consoles were crammed together, seating could barely take Mammoth's size, Gizmo's little niche barely held all his precious electronics and equipment, and poor Kyd Wykkyd's collection of black and white movies was moving in on that niche.
How far had they fallen…
Four pairs of eyes were watching her, already in mission mode. Once, there would have been some chill, eye pinned on the wide screen TV that was…take a guess how much smaller it was, and it wasn't even the best on the market either. No, to get back those privileges, they needed to be serious.
"So, what's the job this time?" demanded Gizmo, the shortest person in every room. A loose, green jumpsuit covered the diminutive body, giving the impression that baby face here was a kindergartner trying to play dress up badly. He was older than he looked, and was sensitive about it.
Standing before her team in all shawl and striped glory, Jinx planted two nearly gray-skinned hands on her hips and stood tall. "Straight from the bigwigs. We have the go. Tell me, how many of you guys are up for a little payback?"
"You're serious?" Normally slouching when he sat, Mammoth had ramrod posture for this, looking the most eager she had ever seen him in a long time. Huge fists were clenched tightly, reminding her of a time when he couldn't even close them. If you looked carefully, you could still see the reminders, burned scarred skin covered his palms. For muscle like Mammoth, to not be able to use his strength was like a torture, making all his actual muscle useless. What good was strength when you couldn't use it?
"They're going to let us go after those twerps?" Just as eager as her brother, Shimmer looked like a cat who got the canary. She was still rocking leather, though that frizzy red hair she sported definitely needed more style to it. Look at her, still playing fashionista…anyway, by now, all the therapy sessions had to have paid off if Shimmer's mood was any indication.
"It's about time!" Gizmo crowed, crossing his arms. "I've been dying to try out some of my new toys. That cyborg won't know what hit him! Ain't that right, Wykkyd?"
Standing a few feet away, a slim teen wearing a mask with horns that were…probably copyrighted somewhere in Gotham, expressed himself with a small smirk, the only hint of any emotion hidden behind red eyes. A black cape draped over his shoulders and flowed down to his booted feet. Again, a look that had to have a copyright, but ask any teenager about such a thing and they would tell you where to go and what to do.
Jinx shared the enthusiasm, though. This had been a long time coming, and she knew, she knew, this was redemption time.
It had been nearly a year, and after healing from their injuries, the five of them had been training hard to prepare for this. They needed this so bad. So very bad. Broken bones, tripped up psyches, burnt hands, and a shredded arm, they all needed answering for. The humiliation of being beaten by some nobodies and forced to come crawling back to base with their proverbial tails between their legs was too much for any adolescent ego to endure.
So what better way to make it all better than with some payback?
Sharply clapping her hands together to draw back attention to herself, Jinx confidently continued, "This is our chance everyone, but don't get ahead of yourselves. We didn't think it before, but we have been beaten by these assholes before. We can't take any chances. We are not going to let them drag out a fight; we hit them hard, hard enough they never get back up. We don't want to give them any opportunity to turn it around and we get a smaller living quarter if we survive."
"That takes the fun out of it!" Mammoth complained, tossing his head back and slumping his shoulders.
Surprisingly, "She's right. We don't give them a chance." Shimmer gave her brother a sharp look, one that drew the larger male's attention. Her arms were crossed now, and you could see how tightly she gripped her upper arms.
"We took our time last time, if only because we were ordered to delay. We don't have that order anymore," Jinx agreed. Scanning her golden gaze over the rest, "That means go all out. Hit hard, harder than ever. Make that cyborg's body parts fly all over the place. Tear that orange hair out of that bitch who suntanned too long."
"Wrap that cape around the bitch's neck," Shimmer growled.
"This is a rare opportunity for us," the leader declared. "Let's show everyone just how powerful we really are. Leave no doubt that we're the best for a reason."
The guys were nodding, even Mammoth. There was a time for bravado, but they each understood what was at stake. After everything they had been through, together, all the struggles through their training, through every job sent their way, all the little nuances that came with said jobs, and the challenges constantly put in their paths, they weren't about to let a group of nobody twerps wreck it all and ruin everything. Not again.
It was time for the debt to be paid back.
"Now listen closely," Jinx began once more, leaning forwards and hunching her shoulders, as if sharing a secret. The rest leaned in as well, becoming the co-conspirators. "This is the plan that command wants us to stick to. If I don't mention anything else, that means we have the chance to get creative. Now…"
Her voice lowered, only four other pairs of ears hearing her.
The tower had been constructed with training facilities. The individuals who would be staying would need such facilities to master their abilities and powers. Some were in the upper levels of the tower, wide and spacious with all sorts of machines designed to put young bodies through physical stress with the intention of strengthening them. In the lower, subterranean levels, there were the facilities designed for pure combat. The powers and abilities of each individual tested there to determine just how powerful they were.
Koriand'r was in one of the facilities located in the upper levels. She was participating in a personal training of her own, one which did not require the use of her Starbolts or concentrations of her life energy the likes of which could cause explosions. On this day, she was training for agility with a focus on aerial maneuverability.
An obstacle course of hoops was her test, and her goal was to pass through each and every one without missing an individual one. Speed would also be tested; the quicker she completed the course, the more complexity that could be added to the following redesign.
With sharpened green eyes, she waited for the program monitoring her efforts to initiate the signal for her to begin. There was a device with a time-measuring counter on it, and due to the ones who built it, it was with humans in mind. She had to learn the common numerical system, and so she recognized the zeros reflected on a raised panel. A sharp noise, one to signal the start of her latest test, had her engage, the digits on the panel increasing in their value.
Her legs kicked off of the floor, flight took hold of her body, and through the first of many hoops did she pass through. Four more did she correctly enter and exit, the initial warm up for what came next. Sharply, she turned her body upward, rising higher then flattening her body once more at the higher altitude, completing the fifth hoop.
Her body angled to the right, going with the turn and through three more hoops. She curved, tilted up, and went through the corkscrew turn created by the next hoop placements. To the left, down, and curve once more, straighten out, then complete another sharp left. The aerial path sloped, then turned sharply to the right and up once more.
The Tamaranean's long hair was pulled back by the air around her, their tips wisping like flames. It almost left a discolored trail behind her, marking the path she was following. This was new, and she wondered at times what it could be. That no harm had resulted meant its priority was not elevated.
The course was growing more complicated the further she ventured through it. Turns occurred more frequently, always sharp, and she was beginning to struggle to maintain her current speed. She needed to maintain it and not slow down, could not slow down…keep going…
A shoulder clipped a hoop, and at her speed it caused some disruption in her trajectory. Koriand'r attempted to power through it, but the correction was too over, and a hoop further along the course resulted in it being disconnected from its placement when much of her upper body snagged it.
Her youthful face winced, and she did her best to recover, only for her left shoulder to run into another hoop. She dropped, her frontal area brushed against the bottoms of several hoops, and instead of completing the next turn, she allowed her speed to carry her out of the course. The time measuring device stopped its counting, and she noted that she had managed to go thirty-six and a ninth of an increment of time measurement unit. She believed it was called a second. What the numeral digit had to do with measuring time, she still did not know.
With a sigh, the Tamaranean descended to the floor below, and once her feet pressed against the horizontal surface, she began to wince. Strain from the bruising was alerting her to the minor injuries she had sustained. Healing would occur, and she would be ready for her next attempt, but for the moment she would rest and reflect.
Once again, she had failed to complete this particular course. She had designed it specifically for the control necessary for sharp aerial turns. Were the turns too sharp that her body was unable to attempt them? Aerial maneuverability was what she was training herself for because when you were Tamaranean, ground-based combat was not the only kind you were limited to.
Her training was still incomplete. It would remain so for some time, and Koriand'r knew this. Her voice still echoed within the depths of her head, the declaration made to Blackfire after the combined threats of the Kalanorians and Thanagarians had been resolved. What remained of her people now existed on the newly created New Tamaran, and they were subject to her older sister's rule for the time as it was currently.
Blackfire was the superior in combat. The one sole victory she had had over her elder sibling was due to overwhelming force. That would not work for a second—and here her confusion over the name of that one particular time measurement unit name increased—time. Blackfire would be expecting and prepared for such a possibility, thus the younger Tamaranean could not use it as a viable strategy.
Hand-to-hand combat was inevitable. That would be how she would defeat Blackfire. There was so much more to the preparation than just going through the exercises. She needed to enhance all of her capabilities, and flight was one of those. It was maybe the one area she would have an advantage over; Blackfire was more new to it while herself had been engaged in flight for much, much longer. It was an advantage she hoped to use.
Her breathing was becoming more steady, less deep, and so she was nearing the time to begin the course once more. Briefly, she reflected on what she could do differently, both in the current course and for future ones. Perhaps it would be more prudent to incorporate targeting practice along with maneuverability. Any combat that occurred in the air would include the use of her life energy, or Starbolts. A new course that incorporated that would need to be considered.
It would also mean using the facilities in the lower levels for such training. There was no grudge directed to those particular training facilities; her preferences for the ones in the upper levels were due to proximity to the roof. To bask in the light of this planet's star was a reward and a means to warm up from the ever present chill. Earth was colder than Tamaran, and finding sources of heat were needed to increase her comfort here.
There was a rejuvenation factor, she felt, from the sunlight. Its strength paled to the one that Tamaran once orbited, and the differences were stark, but warmth was warmth, was it not?
There it was. The sickness of home, one that could not be cured anymore. She disliked it, but found its pang could not be avoided. So she endured it. Then, to speed up the temporary recovery, she would recall her experiences with her friends, the ones who still called her friend…
Maybe she would never be cured, but at least here she could thrive. She could train. She could learn. And once she had gained the strength needed to not only set things right with her people, she could rise to the position of authority that would be required of her to take. While many had an impression of what Tamaranean politics were, there were many intricacies that they were as of yet unaware.
One day she would share the knowledge, but it was not this day.
This day she was young, and she was improving. Hopefully her friends would be by her side for all of it.
Some might complain about the lighting, but Raven felt comfortable with a little darkness in her life. It was calming, soothing, and if necessary a defense. One could hide in it or use it as a weapon. For now, it was a method to center and calm herself.
Every day she engaged in meditation. It was a necessity for her. Empathy was not some esoteric concept for her, to literally walk in others' shoes, to know their emotions, to understand them in their entirety, and occasionally manipulate them was all within the realm of her power. However, it was not one way; while she could experience and change the way another person felt, it went the other way as well. She herself could be influenced by others' emotions.
When you resided in a tower of hormone-driven adolescents, the projection of emotion was near constant. The need to shore up her mental defense tended to be higher on the list of priorities.
Her voluntary, or involuntary, seclusion tended to be interpreted as antisocial as a result. First, that was not what that word meant. Second, that seclusion was the only thing protecting some people around here from being murdered. Third, she was not by nature a people person, so when you added it all up, everybody won here.
As an exercise, she would hover in the air, her legs in the lotus position, and her eyes shut to restrict any distractions provided by vision. The hovering wasn't necessary, but it provided a means to practice control over her powers. It was a technique passed down to her from her first teachers before her return to Earth.
From her lips, she would only utter a single phrase: Azarath Metrion Zinthos. One word at a time, a five second pause between each word, and then repeat the phrase. It kept all auditory stimuli predictable and steady, though it tended to make any interruption that much more disruptive.
Regardless, once centered, she could wipe away the stress inflicted upon her psyche by the constant bombardment of idiocy that found a home in this tower. There were three major sources, two of them more prominent than the third. There were also two lesser annoyances, but one was fully tolerated and inoculated against. The other…rubbed her the wrong way.
It should be obvious who caused her the most…stress. The only difficulty here was deciding who was worse: Garfield or Bart. As soon as either entered a room, it was only a matter of time until the headaches started, and she only got headaches around morons. So it was just counting the seconds. Victor was the third major source, but considered lesser for two reasons. The first was that he knew when to take things seriously…for the most part and tended not to be loud emotionally. The second was that while he could be an idiot, he was her idiot. So she made excuses.
Of the two lesser annoyances, Wonder Girl was very loud with her emotions. She did not hold back anything, which also included opinions. She naturally drew attention to herself, and did not seem to know how to stop. The one point in her favor was that she could be ignored, which Raven tended to do when she wasn't in the mood for drama.
Which left Terra as the other. She barely knew the girl. Depending on the circumstances, she could be loud, as loud as the three morons. Yet, she could be so quiet too, and did not offer…well, anything. Opinions were kept to any patrols or missions or assignments that took them out of the tower. She was…plain, maybe too plain. Sometimes, she faded out of the empath's awareness. It felt like there should be more to this girl, more that Raven would have picked up on over time.
But she just shows up one day, following on Garfield's heels, and the others had welcomed her in. Kori especially, but she was friendly with everyone. Hmm, despite all the culture clash and being extraterrestrial, Kori tended to get a lot of passes. Really, what was there to hate about the poor girl? Especially after meeting her sister.
Tim, on the other hand, didn't have the same handicaps. How it came to be, it did not matter, but everyone here tended to gravitate towards him for leadership. She wasn't about to throw rocks in the proverbial glass house, because she did the same thing. He had taken charge when it had been five of them, six if you included the shapeshifting prisoner, and it had been clear back then that he had had more experience with such situations before.
But this was years later. A lot had happened and changed, but it seemed Tim, or Timothy Drake, had changed little. While not as enthusiastic as some around here were about the purpose of the T.I.T.A.N. Initiative, it provided lodging and sustenance so she would not complain. However, this change in circumstances required changes in all of them.
For her, it would be being a team player, so to speak. No, she was not about to exclude herself from criticism. Because he was still seen as a figure of leadership, Tim needed to step up to that role, and from what she knew and had experienced, she was not impressed.
Tim tended to be more hands off, his plans of action very generic, and he didn't assert discipline over the others. As a result, the group were caught off guard more often than not, facing challenges that should have broken them long ago, so it was a minor miracle they were still in one piece. There were occasions where he did step up, but his choices were very questionable.
For example, an alien race called the Thanagarians had put the planet under martial law and had seized control of the tower. A strategic retreat had been called, and in hindsight she found herself agreeing with the decision. It was the choice of location for their relocation that was highly questionable. Tim's parents were as of now oblivious to their son's double life and that duplicity had been maintained, surprisingly. Why there? Why not a different, more secure location? Why one so risky?
He had potential. He had a strategic mind that was begging to be utilized. There was so much more he was capable of, and Raven felt he was squandering it all with his hands off approach. The wake up call to what kind of leader the teen could be had been when she had joined Batman and the infiltration team that had snuck onto the World Engine. The man had been in charge, had been quick to quash dissent while keeping the objective in everyone's mind. There had been planning, and every member had a part to play in it. The League recruit Ice had been an odd choice until the exposing of the Tamaranean weakness to severe cold.
Was there a chance that Tim, or Red Robin as his alter ego was called, was capable? She had spent many a night pondering and reflecting on that question. There were times when her frustration ruled the day while others had her bestowing leniency. Her expectations did not waver, however, and she felt growing impatience.
Which meant more time meditating.
They were not a group of people who happened to have aligning goals anymore. They were not a band of individuals coming together to try and eke out an existence. They were a team now, one with a purpose for its existence. In this case, they were the founding class of a metahuman education program, one created by the Justice League with the hope that others their age would follow it, and use their abilities for the good of society, whatever that meant.
That might not be how it started, the Flash paying back a debt of support for taking Bart under their wing, but it was what it was becoming. There were voices from the outside, opposition that did not have an alternative but thought that the T.I.T.A.N. Initiative was the wrong way to do it. There was a spotlight placed upon the eight of them, and that meant Tim needed to step up.
If he was going to be the leader, then he had no choice. If he didn't want to be the leader, then he needed to say something and have the rest of them figure it out. There could be no sitting on his hands and waiting for an inevitable disaster or crisis to happen.
Still, if it had to be said, there was only one matter that was significantly more annoying than Tim's inability to lay out his role. In fact, it was the primary reason she was in her room currently, doing her meditation to shore up her mental defenses.
Perhaps it was because of the uncertainty she felt around Terra that she tended to keep a closer eye on her, at least recently. The blonde slip of a girl was friendly, but not gregarious. She wasn't loud like any of the moron trio or Cassie, but she did not give off the cue that she was naturally introverted either. She never once saw her alone, always with someone else, and that someone else, ninety-nine percent of the time was Garfield.
Not that she had any room to argue since the one male figure she habitually interacted with was Victor, but her social circle so to speak included Kori and Tim. She could admit that, especially with the former since there was a sense of mutual respect, provided there was no kissing. Terra gave off the impression of being rowdy, of being loud as the boys, and rarely dissenting from some of the stupider ideas thrown around.
Let us not ignore the fact that Garfield and Terra did have a history with one another, a very similar past. Minds wiped clear, victims of blood magicks, and used as personal teenaged would-be assassins by a megalomaniac with delusions of godhood could theoretically develop a close emotional bond.
Garfield was much more involved with the rest. Terra not so much. It was to the point you rarely saw them separate. A common sight was to see the pair of them side by side on the couch in their recreation room, and by side by side, she meant no room or distance whatsoever between their bodies. Shoulders and legs pressed up against one another, Garfield tended to sling an arm over the blonde's shoulders, and sometimes, disgustingly, the heads brushed against each other.
When the former Ravager had appeared at the tower, without warning or prior communication, there had been some tolerance. Garfield had been the only one who had known her, they shared a traumatic part of their pasts, so it stood to reason they would keep close to one another. Trauma typically affected one's sense of security and any form of it they could find would be taken. This she did understand.
It had been many months, and there had been many threats. The fracturing of the Justice League, the arrival of Blackfire and the remains of the Tamaranean race, the return of the Kalanorians, and the suicide mission of the Thanagarians were a handful. There were the smaller conflicts within them as well where they had played a role. With the numerous threats and the eventual triumphs over them, was it not possible for trauma to also be overcome?
And why the hell did she have such thoughts? It was enough to have her break out of her meditation, her eyes snapping open as she stared straight ahead. Only now did she notice that her breathing was much heavier than she had thought, nearly a heave instead of a slow in and out.
She of all people knew how insidious trauma was and how it rejected logic and reason. It could take years before a healthy resolution could be found. She knew this, understood it, and experienced it. So why was she suddenly being irrational about…this?
Now she was being the irrational one…which meant she needed to concentrate more on her meditation. There were far more important things that required her attention more. Truly.
Such affairs as that…that was the realm of gossip columns and bottom feeders. So what? Those two were close to one another. There was nothing wrong with it. She was projecting her frustrations on a convenient target. That was all.
She had no idea why she was…
Chalk it up to the natural teenage hormones that made adolescence a hell and move on. There were more important matters to attend to.
She could start with centering herself first.
Like many cities on the West Coast, Jump City had sprawl. It stretched outwards, taking up land with various sectors forming within the city limits. You had your residential, of course, then the commercial, and naturally the dying industrial sector. Then there were the lesser sectors, not quite residential, not quite commercial, but there was geography at work making it difficult to create a concrete jungle.
This was the territory of the mall, or it used to be. Before the internet and digital shopping became all the rage, the mall was the one stop shop for so many smaller shops, department stores, and all sorts of wares and goods. It was a place to kill time, to buy, to get the things that big box stores weren't capable of supplying.
The Highland Mall was a corpse by now. When you could meet all your needs on a computer, what need did you have to come to a mall? While yes, a corpse, it was like a zombie, limping along. There were still some stores open, but they were all rapidly approaching their grand closings. Give it a year or two, and it would be fully dead.
Until then, there were still the diehards, and those just looking for a wall to deface. Massive parking lots that had once been filled to the brim with cars just barely filled a fraction of it. You could be lucky if you counted all your fingers and toes and have none left.
For those hoping to catch a desperate deal, today was not going to be their day.
The H.I.V.E. Five was on a trip here, and they were shopping for some hostages.
Gizmo was quick to take out security and bring it under his control. Kyd Wykkyd locked all entrances and exits in quick order. While they were doing that, Jinx, Mammoth, and Shimmer took to rounding up the mall goers.
Oh, there were screams, some defiant demands that were quickly quashed, and while it took longer than Jinx wanted, they had a small group gathered into one of the small stores. Shimmer made sure none could break out through the back. The chain-link theft guard was lowered to cage them all in.
Oh there were complaints. Many of them. With a flare of pink-colored bad luck, she addressed all their complaints in a quick and efficient manner. With displays spewing their contents, and the lighting going on the fritz, among other things, their hostages had other concerns.
"We got our volunteers," the leader of the fivesome announced, turning to the rest of her team. "Next step, we get some attention, if nobody's been recording us already. Gizmo, get to the roof, fire some shots off, and especially go for the cops. We need their attention. Let me know when we have a nice crowd so I can give them something to panic about."
"Right," the little tech genius said, long, spider-like legs sprouting from the pack he wore. Off he went, climbing up the nearest wall, temporarily going upside down under a segment of the second floor that jutted out over the ground floor, then disappeared over the safety railing. He would not be seen again until he was on the ceiling, heading for one of the sets of slanted windows that gave a view of the sky above.
"What about us?" Shimmer asked, drawing Jinx's attention back down to earth.
With a smirk, she answered, "Get ready and keep on your toes. With a big enough ruckus, those twerps will be called in. Once they show up, it's fun time."
