"I… uh, I think I should wash my hair," Terra mumbled, her voice barely audible. She pushed her chair back slowly, the legs scraping against the floor. "It's… it's getting kinda gross."
Beast Boy frowned, a trace of concern flashing across his face. "Terra, you don't have to—"
"I'll just be a few minutes," she interrupted, standing on shaky legs. She was lying, of course. Her hair wasn't dirty, and she had no intention of washing it. She just needed a break—a break from this forced kindness, from the guilt and the pity in their eyes. From the crushing weight of pretending like she could ever be part of this team again.
As she walked toward the bathroom, her pace slow and measured to hide the pain, she could feel the eyes of the other Titans on her. Beast Boy's hope clung to her back like a heavy burden, and Starfire's relentless optimism felt suffocating. They were trying so hard to make her feel welcome, but it only made the alienation sharper.
Once inside the bathroom, she shut the door quietly and leaned against it, closing her eyes. Her body trembled, not just from the pain of her injuries, but from the emotional turmoil that twisted inside her. She was an outsider in this tower—in their lives. And deep down, she knew the other Titans didn't want her back. Not really.
She turned on the faucet, letting the sound of running water fill the small space, a poor cover for the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
Back in the dining hall, Beast Boy sat quietly, staring at the untouched tofu on Terra's plate. His heart sank deeper with every passing moment. Starfire, noticing his silence, floated over and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"She just needs time, friend," Starfire said softly, her voice as gentle as ever. "Healing is a long process, for both the body and the soul."
Beast Boy forced another smile, but it was hollow, his heart heavy with doubt. "Yeah… I hope so."
But as he stared at the empty seat where Terra had been, he couldn't shake the feeling that time wasn't the only thing standing between them. Something was different now. Something irreparable.
The scene shifted with a cold, metallic hum as Cyborg stepped into the dimly lit corridors of a high-security prison. His footsteps echoed against the sterile, white floors, and the sound of buzzing overhead lights droned like a quiet menace. Cyborg's face was set, all business, his usual easy going demeanour replaced with grim determination.
He approached the entrance to the lab, flanked by two guards who exchanged nervous glances. The prison wasn't a place the Titans frequented, and certainly not one they trusted to hold some of their most dangerous enemies. Cyborg gave a slight nod to the guards before they opened the reinforced doors, which hissed open to reveal a large, sterile room filled with humming equipment and the sharp scent of disinfectant.
The guards didn't follow him in. As soon as Cyborg crossed the threshold, they shut the doors behind him, leaving him alone in the sprawling lab.
Inside, two figures were hunched over a table, surrounded by advanced tech—pieces of sleek metal, intricate wiring, and blueprints scattered across the workspace. One of them was unmistakable: Gizmo, the pint-sized genius and frequent thorn in the Titans' side, grumbled under his breath as he soldered together some complex circuitry. His tiny, grubby hands worked deftly, despite the oversized restraints that clamped around his wrists.
Beside him, Dr Chang, his back turned to Cyborg, was overseeing the work with a calm, detached expression. The same scientist who had once provided Robin with the infamous Red X costume—the man who trafficked in experimental tech, bending the rules of ethics and legality without a second thought. His glasses glinted under the fluorescent lights as he turned slightly, acknowledging Cyborg's arrival without fully facing him.
"You're late," Dr Chang said, his voice cool, almost bored. "We've made some improvements to the design, as you requested."
Cyborg's jaw clenched. He wasn't here for pleasantries. "Is it ready?"
The scientist stepped aside, revealing the centerpiece of the lab—a sleek, modified version of the mind-control device used by Brother Blood. But this version was more refined, more dangerous. The heavy restraints, invasive neural links, and clunky interface of the original had been replaced with something almost elegant in its cruelty. A small, wrist-mounted device, connected wirelessly to a neural chip that could be implanted discreetly. A person wouldn't even know they were wearing it—until it was too late.
Gizmo chuckled under his breath, eyes gleaming with mischief as he tinkered with the final components. "You know, when I found out you were the one calling the shots here, I almost didn't believe it. Ol' Tin Can, running around behind his friends' backs to build something like this?" He grinned, showing his sharp, rat-like teeth. "Guess you Titans ain't so squeaky clean after all."
Cyborg's expression didn't change. He wasn't here for Gizmo's snide remarks, and he wasn't here to feel guilt over the line he was about to cross. He was here to protect his team, to protect Beast Boy—and maybe, if this worked, to prevent Terra from becoming a threat ever again.
"Just shut up and do your job, Gizmo," Cyborg muttered. His gaze shifted to the scientist. "How fast can you make it operational?"
The scientist pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his calculating eyes gleaming behind the lenses. "It's ready now, though I would recommend a few tests before applying it to a real subject. This device will rewrite the impulses in the brain—targeting aggression, mistrust, and erratic behavior. It will leave behind only… the more favorable instincts."
Cyborg's chest tightened at the clinical way the scientist spoke. It wasn't mind control, exactly—but it wasn't far from it either. "I don't have time for tests. You said it was ready, so I'm taking it."
Gizmo snickered, leaning back in his chair. "Better hope it doesn't fry her brain, huh?
Cyborg's eyes flashed. He grabbed the device from the table, his grip tightening around it. He knew this was wrong, that this crossed a line heroes weren't supposed to cross. But he also knew that Terra was a threat—one they couldn't leave unchecked.
"Just remember," Cyborg said, his voice low and dangerous as he pocketed the device, "if this thing backfires, I'll be back. And neither of you will like what happens then."
Dr Chang smiled faintly, unbothered by the threat. "It won't. You have my word."
Without another word, Cyborg turned and left, the weight of his decision pressing down on him with each step.