Cyborg leaned forward once more, eyes flicking between Robin and Raven, his voice dropping to a quieter, more deliberate tone. "Look, I get it. 'Mind control' sounds like we're just turning her into a robot. But that's not what I'm talking about. This wouldn't be some puppet-master thing. Think of it more like… reprogramming her brain chemistry. Like what they do for people with bipolar disorder. You know, managing impulses, making sure she only follows the good ones. We wouldn't erase who she is, we'd just cut out the part of her that can't stop hurting us."
Raven's eyes narrowed, her mind racing as Cyborg's words sunk in. "And leave out the bad," she echoed quietly. The anger that had flared in her chest began to cool, replaced by a grim practicality. The idea of controlling Terra sickened her at first, but Cyborg had worked it into something more palatable, something that spoke to her own even Raven knew that despite her own objections, Terra, unstable as she was, could snap at any moment. And if she did…
"If she goes AWOL again and kills Beast Boy... or me?" Raven murmured, her gaze hardening. The image sent a shiver down her spine. She thought of Terra's powers, of the sheer devastation she could unleash if she lost control or fell back into Slade's influence. A wave of rocks and earth, crushing the people she cared about.
Cyborg nodded slowly, reading the shift in Raven's expression. "Exactly. We've already seen what happens when she lets the wrong part of herself take over. Slade exploited that darkness, and we nearly lost everything. If we can just… tweak her impulses, keep her on the straight and narrow, we don't have to worry about her turning on us again."
Robin, who had been listening intently, finally spoke up, his voice measured. "And you think this could work? That you could reprogram her without… damaging who she is?"
Cyborg exhaled, the tension of the moment weighing on him. "I can't promise it'll be perfect, but I know the tech. I've already been going over the schematics from the Hive Academy incident. With some adjustments, we can make it work. It wouldn't be like Blood's device—it wouldn't wipe her memories or turn her into a drone. It'd just… lock her into a better version of herself. One we can trust."
Raven's eyes flickered, a trace of empathy threading through the cold logic. She hated the idea of tampering with someone's mind, of forcing them to be something they weren't. But she also knew what losing control felt like—what it meant to have the darkness inside you take over, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. And Terra, without intervention, was a ticking time bomb.
Robin nodded, his decision forming even as the ethical alarms blared in his head. "Alright. I'm not saying we're doing this. But we need a backup plan, something we can use if things go south. If Terra shows any sign of slipping back into the person who betrayed us, I want you to be ready to act. Quietly."
Cyborg's gaze locked with Robin's, the gravity of the situation settling between them. "I'll start working on it. But this stays between us. No one else in the tower knows—especially not Beast Boy."
Raven's expression softened, just for a moment, at the mention of Beast Boy. "He can't know. He's already spiralling. If he finds out we're even thinking about doing this to her, it could destroy him."
Robin stood, his voice firm as he gave the final word. "Then it's settled. Cyborg, you work on the device, but keep it under wraps. We don't make any moves unless we have to."
The room fell silent again, but the decision had been made. Cyborg had his orders, and the weight of them sat heavy in his chest. They weren't just planning for Terra—they were planning for a future where the team might not survive her. And Beast Boy, caught between his loyalty and his heartbreak, was blind to the war that was being waged behind his back.
Later that day, Cyborg found himself alone in his workshop, the faint hum of machinery filling the space. He looked down at the blueprints spread across his table, his fingers hovering over the device that had once enslaved the minds of the Hive students. His conscience battled with his logic. Reprogramming Terra felt like crossing a line—maybe even violating everything the Titans stood for. But then he thought of Beast Boy, his once-bright spirit now a dim shadow of itself. He thought of the others—his family—and the threat that Terra still posed, even as she lay in their med bay, unconscious.
He glanced toward the hallway that led to the medical bay, where Terra was being kept. Part of him wanted to give her a chance. Maybe she could prove everyone wrong, maybe she could redeem herself without the need for manipulation. But the other part of him, the part that had seen the damage she was capable of, knew better than to leave things to chance.
A message pinged on his communicator. It was Robin.
"Any progress?"
Cyborg stared at the schematics one more time, then responded.
"Working on it."
For now, the plan would remain in the shadows, a last-ditch effort if Terra couldn't prove herself. But the line had already been drawn. It was only a matter of time before they'd have to decide if they were still heroes—or something else entirely.
Meanwhile back at the tower, the sun streamed into the Titans' hall, casting a soft, golden glow over the morning. Beast Boy sat next to Terra at the table, a hopeful look on his face as he gingerly fed her a piece of tofu, his voice carrying the warmth of someone trying to mend something long shattered.
"C'mon, Terra, you used to like this stuff," he said, forcing a smile as he held out another small cube of tofu on a fork. "I made it just the way you liked—extra firm, a little soy sauce. I know it's not exactly gourmet, but it's good, I promise."
Terra gave a weak smile, her bandaged arms resting limply on the table, her body still aching from their violent encounter the night before. She picked at the plate in front of her but barely touched the food. The atmosphere between them felt strained, the air thick with unspoken tension. Beast Boy's eyes were filled with hope—too much hope—and it weighed on her like an anchor.
Across the room, Starfire floated in with a plate of food in her hands, her bright energy a stark contrast to the gloom that hung over Terra like a shadow. "Glorious morning, friend Terra!" she exclaimed with an almost forced cheerfulness, setting down a platter filled with a colorful array of what she proudly called a Tamaranean breakfast. The food, though alien and unfamiliar, looked as vibrant as Starfire herself, with strange fruits that shimmered in the light and eggs that seemed to glow a faint, ethereal green.
"I have made you the most bountiful breakfast from my home planet! It will replenish your strength and fill your spirits with joy!" Starfire beamed, her enthusiasm unwavering, even as Terra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You must try the gorklagan! It is most restorative!"
Beast Boy nodded eagerly, trying to match Starfire's enthusiasm. "Yeah, Terra! Star's cooking is awesome, you should give it a try! It'll help you feel better in no time."
Terra forced another smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She appreciated their efforts—she really did—but every moment here felt like a cruel reminder of everything that had gone wrong. How she didn't belong here anymore. How things really had changed.
She picked up one of the glowing fruits with a trembling hand, but before she could even bring it to her lips, the doors to the hall slid open. Robin, Cyborg, and Raven entered, their expressions dark, their footsteps heavy with purpose. As soon as they saw Terra at the table, their eyes flickered with discomfort, and in an instant, their demeanour shifted.
Robin, who had been mid-conversation with Cyborg, abruptly stopped, his mouth setting into a hard line. Cyborg glanced at Terra, his mechanical eye narrowing slightly before he quickly turned to focus on something else. Raven didn't even try to hide her disdain—her eyes lingered on Terra for just a second too long before she swiftly looked away, her expression unreadable but cold. They had come in with intent, but the sight of Terra—awake, sitting with Beast Boy—clearly made them reconsider.
"We've got… things to take care of," Robin muttered quickly, turning on his heel. "Let's go."
Without another word, the trio made a hasty exit, their unspoken disapproval hanging heavy in the air. Beast Boy's face fell slightly, though he tried not to show it. He forced another smile, but it was thinner now, stretched over his own unease.
Starfire, ever the optimist, clapped her hands together, trying to bring back the lightness. "Oh, do not mind them, Terra! They are simply busy with the affairs of the day. Now, let us return to the joy of breakfast!" Her voice was bright, but there was an edge of strain to it.
Terra shifted in her seat, her discomfort growing. Her first instinct was to run. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to get up and leave, to run again, to disappear into the streets where she didn't have to face their judgmental eyes, their whispered conversations. But her body still ached, the bruises and fractures from the fight making movement painful. She couldn't storm out, not yet..