Rain in Paradise (Installment 1 of 6) (C)

[Dragonscar]

Rain In Paradise

Chapter One
Blood


There comes a time in everyone’s life, when someone is scared out of their mind. Even the most stalwart, iron-willed heroes have times when they’re scared witless.

It was his time.

A chilly, midnight breeze blew over the mountainous landscape as rain and lightning ravaged the countryside. The storm was horrendous, and the gale-forced torrents of water sent any animal that could be found one the city skirts scurrying for shelter. Trees bent in the maelstrom and swayed back upright, only to be pushed back down again. Steady, miniature waterfalls and streams fell around the rocky hills, and sirens could be heard off in the distant, well-lit city.

Normally, nothing could really terrify the subject in question, but someone being hunted like an animal would be could rattle anyone’s nerves, and leave them vulnerable to panic.

The moon was hidden behind the thick cloud layers of the lightning storm, and the only illumination that was visible at this time of night were the brief flashes of light scarring the sky and the far-off city.

The rain didn’t help his vision much either, and the cold of it was unbearable.

His breath seemed to be a ghost flirting with his eyes as he glanced behind him for his stalker. The evil excuse for a man couldn’t be far behind him, lurking in the shadows…

He took the brief pause in the chase to catch a few gulps of the cold air, and continued charging down the slope towards the crowds of the city.

If there was any way he could survive this night, it would have to be in a crowd. He’d have to find a way to blend.

As he pressed his lung capacity to the max, his feet failed him, and the muddy ground beneath him gave way as he went face down into the drink. He grunted audibly as the bitter groundwater soaked him through to the bone. At this time, he’d be lucky just to cling to life, and he very much doubted he could outrace a madman under these extremes.

He struggled to pull his face out of the mushy ground, his face brown with the stuff, and spat a good bit of it out of his mouth. His hand touched the low branch of an evergreen, which he somehow used to pull himself up into a standing position, before it snapped under his weight. The tail that protruded from his hindquarters twitched irritably as he attempted to regain his balance.

His hair dropped down into his eyes, obscuring his sight further, if that was possible. One of his clawed hands ran back through it, for all the good it did. At least he could blink now.

Somewhere along the line, he had found the energy to keep stumbling forward, even though it should have been physically impossible.

“You’re only prolonging the end,” an invisible form in the shadows stated.

Panic took over then, and the fleeing half-dragon started suddenly, losing his balance yet again, and taking a difficult tumble head over heels down the hillside.

When he finally stopped, he found himself in the middle of a wet road. No headlights . . . no hope for escape now. His strength was gone.

“No . . .” he growled through his sharp teeth.

Again, he found it in himself to rise to his feet again, take a few steps, falter a bit, and keep pressing on. Most people would have given in to fate, but he wasn’t most people.

“As long as I have somewhere to run . . .” he told himself, “I won’t stop . . .”

The outskirts of the city were a mere few hundred yards in the distance. A few houses marked the edge of the sea-side port town.

“You really think you’re helping yourself?” the gentle, yet brutal, voice hissed from somewhere behind him. “You’re only keeping yourself alive for more pain and torment. Don’t you realize that no matter where you go, no matter how far you’ve traveled, I will still hunt you down.” The voice came from somewhere behind him. It was close. Too close . . .

“You can try,” the boy says desperately. It’s obvious he questions his own words. “But I’ll fight you as long as I can raise an arm. I’ll run wherever I can.”

“Then stand and run.”

“Ugh . . .” the animal of the hunt groaned, rising again.

“You’ve eluded me much longer than any of your brothers or sisters,” the voice continues softly as the footsteps grow closer, “I’ll admit that much to you, but I’m afraid you still don’t have what it takes to be considered ‘the fittest’. You’re not worthy of the life I blessed you with.”

“You arrogant ass,” the boy hissed in response. “Why haven’t you killed me by now if you’re so all-powerful?”

“That certainly is within my power, child. But I’m interested to see what you’ll do next . . . how you think you’ll live through the night with only the clothes on your back.”

The boy that was being chased down, the last of his kind, looked back into the darkness. “There is no point in denying it. You’re starving. You haven’t eaten in a week. You’re cold, weakened with fatigue, and yet you still defy death.”

The footsteps stop.

“To be honest, I’m simply amazed at your resiliency.”

The dragon rose to his feet yet again, his torn wings waving like paper in the bitter air. Rain mixed with the blood running down his now-delicate face and stained the concrete below him.

“So, you’re still running,” the lethal shadow taunted.

Silence followed for a moment thereafter. The boy shivered in the rainfall, waiting for the killing blow that seemed closer with every moment of his being.

“Very well, then. Go ahead and run. I’ll leave you to suffer as long as you wish. When you grow tired of living, tired of all of your torture that you’ve heaped upon yourself, I’ll be there to end it for you.”

Small rustling of the brush behind him told the teenaged mutant that he was safe. Safer than he was before at least. Now he needed to find a warmer place to shelter himself from the deadly rain.

However, this late, no place would take him. At that moment, he’d even live in the dirtiest place on earth, so long as it was warmer than where he was.

The thought ran through his head . . . about whether or not to lie asleep in that spot right there. Sleep forever.

Then he rose.

***

“Dude, gimme the controller!”

“Ain’t no way, dawg! It’s still my turn!”

For a moment, only the sound of the game could be heard, and perhaps the sound of struggled concentration.

“Leggo my leg!” the squabble continued a few seconds later, “Yer distractin’ me!”

“Gimme that paddle! I want my turn!”

“You’ll get yer turn when my turn is over!”

Such a scene wasn’t untypical at midnight on the observation deck of the Titan’s Tower. The living room was taken over by the two most immature teens of the entire team.

Cyborg and Beast Boy were at odds with each other, one attempting to pry the controller from one another’s hands, while the other attempted to grapple onto it and continue their turn.

It would usually go back and forth until one got too tired to play and hit the sack, and then the other would get bored in the absence of the other, and go to bed as well. It was a vicious cycle that they never really broke, nor had the will to. They enjoyed their little melees, strange as it was, and would probably fall apart if the other weren’t there.

“Alright,” Cyborg conceded, as his walking battle machine trampled across the virtual playing field, “I’ll give it to ya after I’m done with this stage. Wouldya get off me?”

Beast Boy was beyond frustrated. “Just hurry up. I’m getting tired of waiting.”

The door that led to the sleeping area of the tower and the rooms of the individual Titans slid open with a delicate hiss, almost not noticed by the two gamers.

Robin, who was usually sleeping at this time of night, ambled clumsily, gracelessly into the room, rubbing his eyes through his mask. He took a quick glance at the TV, and then walked over to the fridge.

“You two are still up?” he asked sleepily as he poured himself a glass of milk.

“Dawg, you know us,” Cyborg said, pausing the game briefly to transfer some energy from an unnecessary system to his central processor so he could play all night long, “We get a new game, the rule is, we gotta spend at least 24 hours on it before doin’ anything else.”

Robin nodded with a shaky smile, yawning loudly. “Yeah. I forgot that rule.” He clicked off the light to preserve some energy. “Try not to stay up too late you guys. You still have monitor duty and combat training tomorrow.”

Beast Boy yawned and waved a thumb in the Boy Wonder’s direction. “No problem Robin. Cy’ll be there.”

“G’night Rob.” the half-machine said, clicking one last button on the paddle that destroyed the last boss in the stage.

“My turn!” Beast Boy said, seizing the moment, and the control.

“Yeah, yeah, yer turn,” Cyborg grated. He got up, stretched until he smiled and sighed with satisfaction, and moved to the kitchen to microwave a few ribs.

Despite having plenty of battery power, he hadn’t supplied his stomach with nourishment since getting the game in the mail that morning.

“You want somethin’ ta eat B?” he asked the changeling, whom was already pounding his way deep into the next level.

“Orange juice! No, wait! Soy milk! Yeah! Soy milk!”

Cyborg’s nose crunched up at the mention of the smelly substance. Handling it was no fun either, and, pouring it into a glass, the stench hit him like a brick wall getting thrown at him. “Man I’m glad we have a good dishwasher now,” he muttered.

His remaining human ear perked at the sound of the microwave buzzing, and he gleefully darted to where his midnight meal was awaiting its retrieval. The large hybrid pulled the plate stacked almost the size of his head out, took a whiff, and drooled savagely over the meat pile.

“Mmm, MM!” he exclaimed so Beast Boy could hear. “Man, you ain’t lived until you tried one of my famous, patented, Cy-B-Que Baby back Ribs!”

“Dude!” the changeling said in frustration, turning to face his robotic friend, “I dunno how many times I have to tell you! Ve-ge-tarian in the house!”

*GAME OVER*

Cyborg couldn’t stop laughing as Beast Boy cried out in surprise at his walker being turned to roasted slag metal.

A slight clatter of boots meeting metal drew their attention to the hallway door.

“Hey Rae,” Cy said with a smile to the newly arrived girl, her gloomy face a welcome addition to the room between both boys.

Beast Boy paused the game and flipped to face the new arrival. “Hey Raven!”

“What’re you doin’ up so late girl? Don’t you ever sleep?” the half-machine continued.

Raven hadn’t bothered to smile at either of them as she entered. She ignored them both and moved to the kitchen, pulling the door of the refrigerator open and withdrawing an apple from the fruit drawer. She breathed on it and rubbed it on her leotard, then took a bite before answering.

“I couldn’t.”

“Bad dreams, er, ‘visions’ ?” the larger teammate asked.

“Yeah, maybe we should jump inside your head and fix up your daddy again,” the team clown said, leaping over to the counter in the form of a flying squirrel and sitting on it, next to where Cyborg leaned.

Raven cast an irritated glare at the changeling, which got a nervous drop of sweat to slide down the side of his head.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said with a heated tone.

“Heh, heh…uh, forget I said anything.”

“I’m sure she does anyway,” Cyborg whispered into his ear with a smirk.

Beast Boy growled in his general direction.

Raven usually would have taken the time to smirk as well, or compliment his wisecrack with one of her own. However, she was in an exceptionally foul mood, and would probably just as soon burn Cyborg as well in that instance.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she stated firmly, turning to the counter where her tea-maker was. The pot of water she filled up floated over beside her and a box of flavoring, her favorite kind, left the cabinet with a will of its own, and drifted over into her grasp. She withdrew one bag, sent the box back from where it came, and started the water for boil.

An odd silence settled over the room, and even the green morphling couldn’t think of a joke to start something, even to get himself yelled at by both his comrades. Even he was dumbfounded.

“So, uh . . .” he began, and then stopped when he didn’t know what else to say.

“B?” the half-machine started, elbow-nudging him.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t.”

Beast Boy took a double take at the obviously-irritated goth, bit his lip nervously, and nodded in agreement. “Right. Shutting up now.”

Cyborg took his try. “Uh, readin’ any good books Rae?” Getting her to say anything would be a success, but he also didn’t want to be turned inside out. Starting small would be a safer bet.

“Just one,” she droned, waiting for her water to finish boiling. She watched the pot intently, as if attempting to contact the spirit world through it, as if something interesting were actually happening within. Both of the boys knew that she was only trying to keep to herself.

“Yeah?” he continued, “What’s it called? Have I heard of it?”

“It’s a book that’s from another plane of existence, a little outside the library’s search engine.”

Both Titans that were in the kitchen with her frowned at each other as the pot began to whistle and spout steam. She removed it from its holder, poured it into a mug until it was full to her liking, and set it on the counter. She swirled the bag of tea around until it was properly flavored, took a sip of it to make sure it was alright, and picked up her apple that she hadn’t yet finished.

Before she exited, her two main men-in-waiting stopped her. “You okay Raven?” the changeling asked after her.

“Yeah,” his friend continued, “Ya seem kinda . . . I dunno, gloomy?”

Raven was noticeably dark. Before, even in her worst moods, she would have bothered to answer them.

She was silent as she exited, leaving two flabbergasted Titans.

***

With the defeat of her father mere months ago still fresh in her mind, she had thought that these nightmares would end . . .

Her father, Trigon the Terrible, was rightfully feared across the cosmos for unspeakable atrocities. He had laid waste to thousands of worlds in his time, even Azarath eventually being included, his power unmatched through the universe as he rampaged. Planet after planet burned, all by his own hand.

Raven didn’t know the entire story of his eventual fall, where he came from, or even any of his history for that matter. All she was sure of was that he had forced relations with Arella, leading to her being conceived. Her caretakers had never told her the tale, and refused to allow her to know her dangerous history. She only began to know when he came to her through her dreams, through her mind. He spoke to her, gently, calling her to surrender to him.

She almost had, when she first came to Earth, the first time he had ever made himself known.

His voice was strong, demanding, soothing, and powerful, unlike anything she had ever heard before. His grip on her was ineludible, something she could never hope to escape alone. Over time, his speakings became harsh, grinding, terrible . . . something the priestesses of Azarath had told her of when they banished her to Earth.

The prophecy had told her that she would bring untold destruction to the Earth, and beyond. Alone, she wouldn’t be able to stop her father’s cries. Deliverance was out of her reach, it seemed.

That was when she had met Robin, upon the roof of Wayne Enterprises in Gotham City.

The Boy Wonder had been skeptical at forming a team, period, and settling down in Jump City, when there were much bigger cities that required protection seemed all the less likely. Not one to lose an argument, Raven felt compelled, however, to settle there. Robin finally accepted her offer, and called the favors of three other teenaged heroes he had met in their travels.

Together, they formed the Teen Titans, a team that, hopefully, could give her all the assurance she would need to defend herself against Trigon’s influence, perhaps stopping the so-called prophecy before it began. Over time, she became great friends with each of them . . . well, most of them anyway, and came to depend upon them, as they did her.

With only a few years however, the prophecy had, indeed, revealed itself again. The Earth burned, just like it had been promised to her. She was the portal that would bring the great demon to life. Even the strongest attempts by her friends were without results. Try as they might, she was doomed to carry out her destiny, or so she had thought.

Even in the face of utter annihilation, the Titans stood against the overwhelming tide, rescuing her from certain doom in the catacombs where the Terrible One was birthed. With Robin’s help, his undying faith in his old friend, she had reversed the tale, destroying, and denying Trigon his throne. However, in the passing months, even to the present day, she still felt his presence.

In a way, her caretakers had been right all along . . .

Now, the visions she had been having became worse, and almost lifelike. As time went, it became so bad that she couldn’t even close her eyes without seeing the nightmare come to life.

Every time she blinked a glimpse of a nightmare stabbed at her brain. Every time she slept, horrible visions of agony and pain flashed through her head.

Blood…

“Hugh,” she groaned as she stumbled through her open room door and over to her bed. She was tired, as anyone would be after days without sleep. She hadn’t tried any medication either, though this was far from a medical or psychological case. No therapist could cure sleep like hers.

“What is wrong with me?” she asked herself. It would have been strange to anyone who knew her. Raven never talked to herself, unless under the greatest of stress. She set aside her steaming cup of tea, took a small nibble off of her apple, and sat down on the edge of her mattress.

Her comforters wrapped around her shoulders as she shivered, not from cold, but from a feeling of impending doom. It wasn’t necessarily about herself, or even one of her team, but something . . . something was going to cause a lot of pain, suffering, and it would be connected to her somehow. The future was too blurry to make heads or tails over.

“Just visions,” she whispered to herself. “It doesn’t have to happen. Doesn’t have to- ”

*THUMP* “Gimme the paddle!” could be heard in the background. Cyborg was rustling up trouble with Beast Boy again, at 12:30 in the morning.

“Dude! I had like, five minutes!”

“Well that’s your shortcoming! You lost focus on the game, just like the newbie you are, and ya lost! End of story!”

“Cyborg! You had like three hours in a row before me!”

The half-demon’s nose crinkled in major irritation as she stood up. The floorboards creaked as she crossed over to the door. Fortunately for the two boys, she wasn’t in the mood for handing out justice over a stupid game console for the time being.

“Hey! You big, doofus-like, turn-taking, doofus android! You made me die! You owe me a turn!”

“How ‘bout I kick yer lil’ green pansy a-”

Raven didn’t hear anymore, as she soundproofed her door with a press of the lock.

“Idiots,” she grated to herself.

She returned to her bedside, laid down under the blankets, and sighed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t sit still; change her state of mind, anything. Everything went back to the scene she kept seeing. They should have gone away, but now they were more constant, and irrevocable.

Now she was seeing them even with her eyes open. They were short, but they pained her now. Tears welled in her eyes as the person, whoever it was, was tormented relentlessly, dying, bleeding to death in the streets, zapped by an unnatural light strapped to a lab table, screaming in agony as she reached for them, to try to help them, save them somehow, someway . . .

She found herself panting in a cold sweat, raking at her sheets, clawing at them as if they were suffocating her, choking her to death. She took long, dragging gasps of breath, breath that seemed to grow hotter each time.

It was so hot . . .

Her drapes and windows, all were open, cool breezes from the night drifting over the bed, but not reaching her.

Raven panicked and threw off her comforters, then made a desperate lunge for her windows. She stuck her head outside, pulling large gulps of cool air into her lungs, bringing welcome relief to the fires that raged in her chest.

Finally, she was satisfied with her body temperature, panting where she stood, trying to calm her thudding heart rate. Her chest rose and fell as she stared at the storm outside. Rain splattered the windows with such force it threatened to drown out her very thoughts.

Her hand left a foggy print on the window as she brought it away. She slid down her large window, leaned her head back, and let the coolness of the storm calm her. She was scared, there was no denying something such as that. It was visible all over her face. Even her body betrayed it as she crossed her arms over her breast and hugged herself. The flashes were painful.

She wanted to scream, make them all go away. Such a thing wouldn’t help her though, she knew that much. It just hurt so badly that, one way or another, she needed to be rid of these images.

“Get – out – of – my – head!” she exclaimed, grabbing and yanking on her violet hair, hurting herself in the process, but also taking a slight load off by splitting her attention. Physical pain was far less significant than what she was feeling.

Her eyes went wild and unfocused, violet blending with black to produce a look that would remind someone of a glimpse into oblivion. Random objects, fragile to fortified, became mulled, misshapen, and cracked.

“Make it stop . . . somebody help me,” she moaned clawing at her skull, her fingers threatening to break at the joints.

Things that had already begun to succumb to stress from her powers over the weeks were beginning to take their limit. A few glass decorations received enough exposure to her power that they became fragments and powder. Even her bed groaned under the added weight, and seemed to be begging for relief. She thought about running out into the hallway, or into her mind to meditate and regain her focus.

For a full minute, she considered it. Her hand had started to reach for her meditation mirror—

No . . .

She pulled her hand back.

She denied it to herself. I won’t run away from this, whatever it is. I’m not a helpless little girl anymore.

Her determination, placed in a speech, would probably earn her a shower of awards from a crowd. Determination and self-righteousness though, she knew, wouldn’t be enough to help her with this inner battle. Her heart pounded at her sternum, pleading, imploring to breathe the same air she was. An unopenable door. An escape to freedom.

Raven wished it were that easy for her. Trouble seemed to follow her wherever she made footfall, and everyone on the path she encountered or walked with got caught in the blast.

I’ll protect the others from this, she swore. They won’t fall prey because of me. Not this time. She had drug them into a universal-scale conflict once before, and she didn’t plan to do so again.

A book . . . she realized, a glimmer of hope starting to shine through the situation. The right read could make the sorceress forget any trouble.

She quickly made her way to her bookshelf, shuffling through the selection with urgency, thumbing anything that wouldn’t do to the floor. Title after title fell with a thud, everything from old Steven King classics to Mark Twain, and Dean Koontz. Even her own book that she had thought about getting published, but thought better of, flew over to her nightstand to rest. No doubt it would have been successful, as her name was known to the ends of the earth and back by now. Her name, and those of her teammates, were, no doubt, world-renowned.

It was for that reason exactly, she had stopped right before she added the ending. Drawing attention to herself and her friends, as superheroes, was definitely not a bright idea. Fan boys would be swimming over to the island every night, knocking down the door to try and garner some memorabilia from her, and any of them.

The Book of Azar, Huckleberry Finn, The Bourne Identity, even a few old spell books and encyclopedias passed from her selection and to denial. She needed something unorthodox. She needed something that would grab her attention, hold it, and distract her. By the time she had rummaged half way through the shelf, a full pile of literature held her feet bound to the floor.

“Let’s see,” she thought out loud. She stroked her chin, kicked a few books off of her, and rose off the floor. Her powers threw aside anything she wouldn’t like, regardless of its worth.

There.

The perfect thing to keep her mind occupied, noticeable amongst her private library as it was the only book that was pink or brightly colored. Her mother had given it to her at birth. The words that told her what it was called, or the author, for that matter, had faded away long ago.

One thing significant about it though: She didn’t know what it was about, as it had no tell-tale introduction on the back cover. It could be a cook book, for all she was aware of—in which case the search would continue. Raven opened the front cover of the hard-back novel, or what she hoped it was a novel, and thumbed about halfway into it. The text was in modern English, like most authors would write.

One word caught her eye above any other to be found on the page, which she found strange for some reason.

Golden.

That word seemed to have a certain poignancy to it that she had never noticed before. It fascinated her, caused her eyes to widen, and made her smile.

She didn’t know why, but, satisfied, the other pieces of her private collection returned to their proper places, minus her own book, and the one Arella, her mom, had given her to keep.

Raven folded her legs in meditation fashion as she leapt up onto her bed, already feeling more occupied. As she cracked it open to begin, a feather of white drifted down gently into her lap, lying on her foreleg. Inside, she found that the title page had been torn out, or just wasn’t existent in the first place. She could find no clue as to what the book she was going to read was called.

It was as if she were flying blindly into a butcher shop. The sorceress had never started a book that she didn’t know the title to . . . It was, unheard of.

Nervously, she peaked in at the first line, hidden behind the contents, and who it was written to.

He came from the horizon . . .

Raven paused for a moment, considering whether to continue reading or to put it down right then, before she became hooked. She wasn’t sure, judging by the beginning, if she would really enjoy it. It seemed different from the other books she read. After all, change of pace wasn’t always good.

But, she had never started anything without following it through to the end.

With a nervous breath, Raven sighed, reopened the novel to the beginning, and began.

He came from the horizon, sword on his back, blood on his body, and a heavy wound in his heart . . .

[Death_lash]

Wow, it was really good:eek: Did I say it was really good? I'll change it. It was really really REALLY good.

At first, where the dragon was being chased, I thought it might be Robin...then I saw the tail part and thought somehow BB got mutated and stuck in a monkey form forever...but then I realized it was a totally new character and thought 'hmm, a boy with a tail. Well, BB's green, Cy's half metal, so a boy with a tail is not really weird' and then I read on and found out he was a dragon...WHAM! Man that was a shock*shakes head* but it was still really good, how you reveal who it is step by step. COOL;)

The Titans are in their characters, too; Cy and BB, in their usual pointless tug-of-war; Robin, thankfully not joining the war, but making sure his friends are going to be okay, on time for tomorrow's-or is it today?-training; and Raven, well, in a really depressed mood-even more depressed than in the show- but acting in the way I thought she would if she's in a really, really bad mood. NICE JOB!:D

And here comes the big fish for me:D RAVEN!!! Oh man, poor Rae, and I thought her trouble was all over in episode The End*sighs* And the pink book...okay, hmm, pink book, Raven, reading. Somehow cracking-up, but cute;)




Mm, and I've got a question.

The one who was chasing the dragon boy at the beginning-was that guy Slade, by any chance? The word 'child' and the way he speaks reminded me strongly of that masked villain.


Even if it's not, it'd still be cool; it's always nice to have a new cool villain;)



Nice job. Keep it up!:D

[Dragonscar]

Wow, it was really good:eek: Did I say it was really good? I'll change it. It was really really REALLY good.

At first, where the dragon was being chased, I thought it might be Robin...then I saw the tail part and thought somehow BB got mutated and stuck in a monkey form forever...but then I realized it was a totally new character and thought 'hmm, a boy with a tail. Well, BB's green, Cy's half metal, so a boy with a tail is not really weird' and then I read on and found out he was a dragon...WHAM! Man that was a shock*shakes head* but it was still really good, how you reveal who it is step by step. COOL;)

The Titans are in their characters, too; Cy and BB, in their usual pointless tug-of-war; Robin, thankfully not joining the war, but making sure his friends are going to be okay, on time for tomorrow's-or is it today?-training; and Raven, well, in a really depressed mood-even more depressed than in the show- but acting in the way I thought she would if she's in a really, really bad mood. NICE JOB!:D

And here comes the big fish for me:D RAVEN!!! Oh man, poor Rae, and I thought her trouble was all over in episode The End*sighs* And the pink book...okay, hmm, pink book, Raven, reading. Somehow cracking-up, but cute;)

Mm, and I've got a question.

The one who was chasing the dragon boy at the beginning-was that guy Slade, by any chance? The word 'child' and the way he speaks reminded me strongly of that masked villain.

Even if it's not, it'd still be cool; it's always nice to have a new cool villain;)

Nice job. Keep it up!:D

Well, I only wish all of my readers gave me reviews like that. Makes it all worth while.

I'm glad you enjoyed the installment opener. I realize the opener was a bit dull as they usually are, which is why I tried to open with an air of mystery: "Who is this kid?"; "Who's the guy chasing him?"; "Why is he chasing him?" etc. Looking back on it, it could have been better, but I'm happy it satisfied you.

The challenge wasn't actually keeping the Titans in-character, so much as it was producing a hook to keep you, my audience, intrigued. That, in and of itself, is always a very predominant issue I have. Apparently it worked in your case . . . hopefully.

As for your question: No, it's not Slade. It's an original character; someone with much more insidious plans. Who it is--who it really is--you'll have to keep reading to find out. I promise a twist like no other at the very end. ^_^

~Dragonscar

[Dragonscar]

Chapter Two
Dragon’s Eye - Part One


Fog thickened and laid down a dangerous barrier as the amber sun rose over the bay city.

The golden glow, the promise of a new day, the sky-dominating radiance, woke up the sleepy little town of Jump, and all of its tired inhabitants.

Faint echoes of blaring horns and busy traffic bounced off the metal canyon walls.

Night workers, trapped in their tall skyscraping, glass prisons, yawned and were finally allowed the welcome relief of their posts, and went home to briefly visit their families before falling exhaustedly into bed.

Such was the way of the inner city. Worked-to-the-bone people, backed up by more worked-to-the-bone people, to continue in such an endless cycle until Doomsday.

Constant footfalls carried with them their own peril; that of going deaf.

To his ears, the ears of the dragon-boy, just an animal being hunted, the constant noise was virtually unbearable.

The moment he had walked into the city the night before, he thought he was going to black out from the noise. It pierced his skull like a railroad spike, and it helped him get to sleep by knocking him into unconsciousness.

The half-dragon had woken up wedged in between a tin garbage pail and a dumpster, in an alley between the Wayne Enterprises branch building and the JCU News Tower.

He wasn’t in the nicest smelling place on Earth, but at least it was hidden, and probably the last place anyone would look for him.

His legs were cramped as he stretched them out to stand.

He shoved the tin waste dispenser to the side and grappled the wall he had leaned against with a clawed hand, using it as a solid ladder to raise himself to his feet.

He left a visible scar in the form of a group of five slashes on the side of the Jump City Unlimited tower.

Report that, media, he cursed them in his mind.

When he had finally made it to a walking position, he noticed that his wings and tail had disappeared, probably from his comatose-like state. They merged with his body whenever he entered a perfectly relaxed state.

He was enjoying being without them, truthfully. It made him feel all the closer to normal without them.

His crimson locks had also been replaced by flowing, dirty-blonde hair, and his eyes resumed their normal brown glaze.

He was able to, for the first time in weeks, smile slightly.

Good riddance.

He took the first steps out into the morning rain shower, declined from thunderstorm status since last night, and then froze.

He quickly withdrew back into the safety of the shadows.

If that man that was chasing him didn’t already know where he was, walking around like he was, the same fashion he had last night, not changing his attire, he wouldn’t be too hard for discovery.

He sighed and looked around the square. There was a mall across the street, not open until noon. It’d be a perfect place to hide when he could get in. The crowds would be a welcome hindrance to the “red man’s” prying eyes.

The mall had a large glass tube crossing over the busy roadway, and its entrance was probably connected to the parking garage it was part of. It shared a T-shaped intersection with the Wayne and news buildings, just across from where he was standing, and as far he could tell, it was several floors high, and spanned the entire block.

The boy snuffed in frustration and turned the opposite way, towards the other entrance to the alleyway. He hoped for a clothing outlet, one not part of the mall.

It was against his policy to steal except under the most extreme conditions, but he had determined a long time ago that he was in dire straits.

With barely what one could call “spare change” that he found on the street in his torn windbreaker’s pocket, he couldn’t really afford to buy anything in the way of a new wardrobe, or even a single outfit.

He needed a replacement badly, and sitting on the street begging for change would not only be degrading, but time-consuming, and attention-drawing besides.

Any slight risk could put him in impossibly deep trouble, and the smallest detour could eat up valuable seconds.

As he sniffed for any danger, poking his nose out, his eyes scanned the opposite side of the street.

What he wanted, a casual wear store, was nowhere in sight.

Nothing down there he was looking for. He grunted in frustration and continued to scan.

He turned to the right, already having seen the left direction’s entirety on the walk in the night preceding. Now he turned to the right.

There was a cell phone service center set up next to the fast food joint. He could tell what it was due to the large, walking, Styrofoam walkie-talkie standing out on the front step, waving at the afternoon traffic.

A hotel jutted skyward just beyond that, one of the newer luxury suite editions, specially bought by Wayne Enterprises so their employees could have a cheap place to stay. It stood taller than most of the other buildings surrounding the main high-rises on the square.

An adjoining parking garage took root on the opposite side.

Frustrated that what he sought wasn’t in view, he hunched over, shoved his hands into his pant pockets, and left his now-useless jacket behind.

For all the attention it drew, he thought to himself, it’s probably better. Whoever that man was, he probably wouldn’t be looking for someone without a red breaker and hair and eyes to match.

He needed a new set of attire.

Problem was finding the suitable store that wouldn’t mind “donating”.

Leaving the relative safety of the alleyway, he tried at first keeping his head down amongst a very thin crowd.

Eventually, it was the light rain that began to take its toll.

A mist began to develop slowly, giving the town a creepy aura and a feeling of unwelcome.

Can’t anything be simple anymore? he wondered. His face was still hidden behind half a head of hair and he planned to keep it that way.

His chest tightened with fear as he stepped out into the thinned sunlight, something he wouldn’t usually do.

He was going for unpredictable without overstepping his boundaries and drawing wandering eyes to him.

The sidewalk was grey with freshly fallen raindrops. His worn out tennis shoes betrayed his feet the cold, and his drenched socks were no help. Every step he took sounded like a sponge getting wrung out.

I swear, he thought, everything’s designed to hinder me somehow.

He cast his eyes skyward and sighed in disgust. Instead of putting the blame on the “red man”, he cast it on a more immediate source.

Someone up there must really hate me for life to have gotten this crazy.

The crosswalk didn’t make his already-freaky attitude any better. It seemed to take the light a full ten minutes to turn green, though in actuality, it was only thirty seconds, but the tension caused it to develop slower, and seconds became blurry minutes.

The wait was made only worse by the wind-chill factor, as a bitter breeze blew hard onto his back, mocking him with unforgiving harshness.

And the hits just keep on coming. Why doesn’t it just start snowing already?

With his powers came with impatience, as impatience was what fueled them. That, blind fury, and burning hatred, made him tick.

He stepped out into the street, casting a glance up the one way square to make sure no out of control traffic would barrel him over, and leave him a lifeless manhole cover on the pavement.

The sudden passing of a speeding Porsche drenched his backside with water and sent him into a fit of shivers.

. . .

. . . Lovely.

He froze in his tracks, a bit of the red, angry, glow returning to his eyes.

He bit his lip in aggravation, took a long, dragging, shuddering breath, and continued on to the other side of the street.

Silence seemed to come to him, just for a moment, pulling him to a halt.

He glanced either way and behind him to make sure it wasn’t a precognitive reaction to danger.

. . .

Sure enough, the hustling and bustling noise of the world resumed the next moment, and he relaxed again, if one could call it that.

He decided to stick to traveling along the right, as fate would have it, which had forced him to go that direction in the first place anyway. He groaned as he waited for the crossing signal again.

The second time, it didn’t take quite as long. He smiled at this, and brushed under his nose, trying to appear as casual as possible.

As he progressed further down the street, heading for the corner of Forty-fifth and Maine, something caught his eye in one of the shop windows.

He quickly turned his head towards whatever it was, taking in a deep breath that signified panic beginning to take hold again.

A spot in his throat went sore and he swallowed it down nervously.

The person, or thing, he saw in the glasses gemmed reflection dotted by rain, was the source of his fright.

He quickly turned towards where the reflection’s source should have been . . .

. . .

Nothing . . . no one there.

He turned back to the store window again, then turned his attention back across the street.

Nothing, and nothing.

The dragon-boy eagerly took in a breath and blew it out, anxious to relief some stress.

He took one last look, just to make sure that the person he had seen wasn’t there all of a sudden again, and saw no one.

He sighed in relief, and eased up again, unclenching his fists, and letting his neck hang, his back loosening.

Get a grip . . . You’re just scaring yourself. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it while you were sleeping . . .

It was probably true too. “Red Man” seemed to know who any one person was at any given time, given the proper means to find them out, and give one all of their life details. The psycho pursuing him wasn’t scary in the physical sense—intimidating, perhaps. He wasn’t even the most horrifying when it came to demonstrating unique powers.

No . . . that man was a totally different scary. He was horrifying in the fact that you couldn’t hide from him. The dragon-boy had run to the end of the Earth it seemed, and he would find a way to track him down like no one else could. He’d find him, figure out when he was at his weakest, and nail the perfect point in time squarely.

He was demonic in that respect. Lucifer, the Devil himself would have a time topping him.

The half-dragon stopped on a dime before completing another step forward.

His gaze turned to another point of interest in the window . . .

Perfect.

He smirked like a blissful idiot after finding what he sought. His eyes darted to the sides of the building, looking for an alley to enter.

One on the right, one on the left.

Right had been good to him so far, he reasoned with himself, and ducked in.

He squeezed through the small opening, a difficult fit for one his size. Though he was decently trim, he wasn’t what one would call “petite”.

It was slow going, but he made it around to a back alley. He manually widened it with his immense strength just a bit to accommodate his massiveness.

The back alley was poorly lit by a single light attached to the back of the clothing goods store.

The other lights in the alley were either burned out, busted, or there for show.

The light that was working was right next to the back entrance of the place he wanted.

Otherwise, the only other illumination came from the sky up above, as this particular alleyway, once connected to the streets, had been sealed off recently.

Maybe Lady Luck will keep me company.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t even bother to lock the back door anymore, and he wouldn’t have to damage property.

He wandered over to the small stoop planted his foot on the second step.

He tried the door, jiggling the handle forcefully.

Though it rattled, the threshold did not yield.

The half-dragon growled in frustration.

And maybe she’ll dump me at the door . . . he thought in a literal sense.

Desperation overtook him, as he had come too close with his attempts to be denied at this point. He decided on a direct approach.

Two pairs of five claws replaced his normal, human-shaped fingers.

All five small blades plunged into the steel around the handle, piercing rather easily. A single yank brought the door handle—along with the lock—out of the door.

The dragon-boy sighed contently, feeling the heat of the indoors, and the relief that came with it.

Thank God for modern insulation . . .

TTT

“YEARGH!” Robin roared, flying a spinning back roundhouse kick at the center of the punching back.

He quickly regained his flooring, landing in a crouch.

“HAH!” A rising uppercut followed blindingly fast afterwards.

The bag buckled up and away from Robin. He took the opportunity to leap over head in a flip.

“UGH!” The Boy Wonder landed both feet dead center, driving it back the other way.

Robin’s Bo staff emerged the next instant. The acrobat leapt towards the ceiling again with unparalleled grace, swung down, and sent the target back below him.

By that time, he was beginning to feel the fatigue of a long workout.

Sweaty and winded, Robin smiled, having the time of his life.

Nonetheless, he used his current, sky born position as an advantage, and drove both metal-bottomed feet downwards.

The powerful drive sent the Velcro bond straining. He could hear the ceiling up above creak and complain from his powerful blows.

He smiled, spinning around and jabbing it in the side with the butt of his staff, followed up by a few rapid strikes that kept it at a decent length and driving into the cushioned “gut” with his heel.

When he ceased his assault on the imaginary, brain-dead target, he used his left, planted foot as a beam, raised his right leg to his chest, and sent a powerful kick to the upper cushioning.

The impact sent the entire bag into an odd wobbling motion.

“YEEEEEAH!” Robin yelled, bringing his right heel back into a scissor kick, that sent an echo throughout the room.

He neatly planted his staff on the floor, used it as his base of gravity, and—faster than the eye could follow—reversed his kick direction and became a corkscrew, twirling like an airplane propeller, and snapped the Velcro suspender.

He jabbed forward with his staff, impaling the bag so fast it could only be seen with slow-motion, and a moment later, slammed his ruined opponent to the floor with a force that any mortal man would have a time mimicking.

Robin maintained his position for a brief moment, locking his opponent in a leg lock, while inhaling cool oxygen and exhaling hot carbon dioxide.

The Bo staff that was lodged in his opponent ripped through the fabric like a knife, shattering what was left of the punching back and sending particles of stuffing flying clear across the room in a hail of foamy confetti.

Robin loosed his grip on his Bo, allowing it to retract back into itself, satisfied with its performance for the time being.

“Hoo,” Robin sighed at last. “Time to get a new one.”

His chest expanded and retracted a few times before he tossed his sweat-drenched towel aside.

“Wonder what’s on the breakfast table,” he thought out loud.

The automatic door slid open allowing him to leave the gym.

The Boy Wonder sighed contently and tossed the rag draped over his neck against his door as he passed to use later. He could still get a little mileage off of it before it needed to be washed again.

Robin yawned and stretched as he wandered down the abandoned hallway.

There was no sign of anyone in this area of the Tower at this time of the day. Everyone was usually either in the den, playing video games or watching TV, out in the city doing their own thing, or in the gym, working out.

Robin had been the only one in the gym, and didn’t encounter anyone on his way back down the halls.

He whistled a familiar tune to himself as he descended the stairway and down to the main level of Titans Tower. His hand massaged a sore spot in his back as he went.

The fight with a resurrected Cinderblock earlier in the week had been a pain in the back—no pun intended—and a swift smack to the back left the Boy Wonder trying to get rid of the nagging, reminding back pain.

Starfire had insisted on singing him the Tamaranian Verse of Consolation and Healing . . . all 3,726 verses . . .

The Boy Wonder bit his lip and straightened up as he reached the threshold, hearing ‘her’ voice.

Ugh . . . he flinched, what’s she doing up so early?

She always slept in on Sunday mornings when Cyborg went to church.

He sighed, knowing what to expect the moment he walked into the room.

The door to the kitchen buzzed open, and in stepped Robin, stealthily as he could possibly be, wearing metal-heeled combat boots while walking on a metal flooring.

He flinched at his own footfalls.

“Robin!”

Great . . .

The boy in question was gripped in a lethal Tamaranian embrace, and had the air crushed out of him.

“Ugh . . .” he groaned, his back begging him to ease up.

The crackling of bones and vertebrae the next moment sent surges of agony head wards.

“OW!” he yelled.

“Oh . . .”

Starfire giggled and hastily released the Titan leader. He dropped to the floor from their position in the air, groaned, and landed unsteadily.

Robin shook the cobwebs out of his head, and straightened up.

“Did I harm your delicate human physique?” the alien girl asked with a blush.

Robin smirked with a bit of a flush draining into his face as well. He raised his hand to his mouth and cleared his throat bashfully.

“Nice greeting Star. Where’s mine?” Beast Boy smirked from the couch.

He was playing the new copy of Space Monkeys that wasn’t ruined by Cyborg’s system charger on the supped up Gamestation.

Robin cast a cold stare.

“No Starfire,” he ground. He turned his face back to her again, and then softened his voice with a slight smile. “I—uh, I’m fine.”

Then he stopped.

He sniffed.

Robin turned to the stove.

“Hey, did Cyborg make bacon and eggs before he left?” he asked, pointing towards the counter.

He took leave of Starfire, to his relief, and stepped into the kitchen.

Beast Boy spoke up from the sofa: “Yeah, he told us to leave it out for ya in case you wanted some.”

Robin smiled. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He reached into a cabinet, and scooped some of the heart-clogging breakfast onto his plate.

The smell made the Boy Wonder’s mouth water. Suffice it to say, Cyborg could whip up a batch of bacon and eggs like no one else could. He had to swallow to keep from drooling, as was natural whenever handling Cy’s cooking.

“Cyborg’s at church I assume?”

“Yup.”

“Did he mention anything about when he’d be home?”

“Uh, I don’t think so. That new Galactic Clash movie’s out these weekend. Wouldn’t surprise me if he went to see it. You know Cyborg and sci-fi.”

Robin nodded.

“Only too well,” he returned, reaching for the paper that the android Titan had left on the countertop.

“The Lakers won last night.”

“Great . . .” Robin groaned, immediately turning back to the Sports section in response. “How bad?”

“Really bad. Score was 80 to 65 last I checked.”

“Well, looks like I owe Cy twenty bucks.”

“Toldja Cy knew what he was talkin’ about. It’s like he’s got a hand in these sorta things. I bet twenty on the Colts last week, and he made it triple or nothing that the Vikings would spank ‘em.”

“And?”

“Cy’s still waitin’ for thirty bucks.”

Robin smirked.

Starfire floated curiously over Robin’s shoulder, trying to peer at the—to her—meaningless rabble printed on the paper. “Robin? Is this, ‘the ball of the foot’?”

Robin did a double take and raised an eyebrow oddly. He paused.

“Football? Colts and Vikings are football. The Lakers are basketball.”

Starfire nodded, trying to understand. She scratched her cranium gently, not quite comprehending the two.

“And, the ‘football’ involves a ball made of a human foot?”

Beast Boy chuckled to himself.

Robin sweatdropped and smiled crookedly. “Uh, no, not really Starfire.”

She blinked, clueless. “Then, the ‘skin of a pig’?”

Robin took a bite out of a piece of bacon as she stared expectantly at him. “Um . . .” he thought to himself, scratching his chin with his free hand. “It’s, uh . . .”

“. . .” Starfire listened quietly.

Drip!

A bead of sweat fell of his head.

“It’s kinda . . . um,” he froze.

“Cop out,” Beast Boy accused from his perch on the futon sofa.

Robin glared.

“It’s complicated Starfire,” he said, turning back to her. “How about you sit down with us guys during the Sunday game and we’ll try to explain the rules to you. It takes a little while to get the hang of all of the rules.”

“What?” Beast Boy paused his game. “Starfire? Watch football?” He blinked.

All, for a moment, was silent.

“Hahaha! This’ll be good . . .”

“What is so amusing?” Kory asked, blinking. She rubbed her scalp in confusion, lost as for what to laugh at. “Did I, ‘make the funny’?”

“No,” Robin answered, obviously annoyed, “Beast Boy was just ‘being the dork’.”

“Hey!”

Starfire blinked and giggled. Her smile was bright enough to light the darkest rooms in Robin’s eyes. He smiled at her smile, and laughed himself.

“Oh, sure. Pick on the green kid . . .” Beast Boy simpered, sliding down into his chair. His controller clicked as he progressed deeper into the level he was on.

Starfire smiled pleasantly.

Robin sighed and jumped up onto the counter, taking another bite of his breakfast.

He answered, “Don’t go the sympathy route Beast Boy. It doesn’t work.”

“What sympathy? You guys don’t know the meaning of the word.”

He was slightly on edge from lack of sleep, so Robin simply formed a thin smile of his own.

“I shall eagerly await the arrival of the ‘Game of the Feet’.” she said in a bubbly manner. She smiled, ducked her head into the refrigerator, and pulled out a large canister of mustard.

She hugged her precious ‘drink’ to her chest, closed the icebox, and flew around the corner, up towards the sleeping area.

Beast Boy shivered.

Robin cringed.

“Uggh . . . I watch Cyborg eat a side of ribs everyday and felt like hurling more’n once,” he paused, “but, I’ll never get used to that.”

“I can’t believe she thinks it tastes good.”

“S’all Greek to me too.”

Robin circled around the couch, carrying his light breakfast with him. He sat down next to the changeling, took another bite of bacon, and carved up his eggs with his fork.

Beast Boy cast a side-glance and flinched in disgust. “Dude, do you realize you’re eating a perfectly innocent pig, and three unborn baby chickens?”

Robin poked the yoke and gulped it down.

“Beast Boy, I’m not forcing you to eat meat. Please don’t complain that I like it.”

Silence.

“I can’t believe you’re eating a living, breathing creature.”

“Beast Boy,” Robin ground in frustration, “this ‘living, breathing creature’ stopped ‘living and breathing’ a long time ago. Just, knock it off, alright?”

More silence.

“Y’know, I bet that momma hen’s crying over her babies right now.”

Robin stopped before eating anymore.

He sighed, stood up, shuffling over to the sink. His appetite was gone. Whether it was through forced guilt, or sudden disinterest in food, no one could know.

“I’ll be in the gym,” Robin growled, heading for the stairway.

The sliding door opened and closed behind him as he exited.

Beast Boy beamed, and a wide smile spread across his face.

“Aaaaand score another one for vegetarians everywhere . . .”

TTT

The dragon-boy looked over his new outfit with favor staring into the mirror and scanning himself head to toe.

He had donned a new pair of white tennis shoes in place of his old, broken, black ones. He also gained a new pair of blue jeans and an unstained white t-shirt, topped by a jean jacket. The half-dragon purred slightly, happy with the warmth of his person.

“Well,” he started with a sigh, reaching down to his abandoned set of drawers, and reaching into a Velcro pocket. His hand emerged with a dollar and sixty-seven cents. He slid it onto the counter. “. . . can’t say I didn’t try to pay.”

He turned toward the back of the store from whence he had come.

The boy hated to steal, unless under the most stressful circumstances he had to. He despised sinning against his fellow man with a vengeance, but it was necessary for his existence at times. After all, self-preservation took root over any other instinct.

Then he stopped.

His hand went to his chin.

His goatee . . .

The half-dragon sighed.

As much as it kept his chin warm, it needed to go.

He looked around the front desk for a pair of scissors, which weren’t hard to find.

He pulled what he sought out of an old, unused coffee mug, then turned what was usually used to clip off tags, into a trimmer.

The small, sprouting beard was gone in four clips. He brushed the red hairs away into a garbage can, and looked in the mirror again, examining his barer face.

That’ll work, he thought half-heartedly.

Though he felt naked now, he felt slightly relieved, in the fact that “Red Man” would have to look much harder at the crowds in order to differentiate him from the rest of the people in the city.

TTT

Cyborg had returned to the tower about an hour after Robin had his breakfast.

He was still wearing his image-crafting ring as he walked in the door. He removed it from his right hand, and immediately lost his tan suit, regaining his normal appearance.

“I’m back everyone!” he shouted, setting the ring in a small compartment in his chest for later use.

He looked around the main room.

Empty.

Quiet.

Abandoned.

“Yo! Where’d everybody go?!” he hollered again.

Beast Boy wasn’t on the couch playing video games as he had left him.

Starfire wasn’t bugging him to braid her hair when he returned.

Hell, even Robin wasn’t in the vicinity.

“Huh . . .” he said, “It’s like I walked into a theater playing Ishtar . . . only not as cold in here.”

Cyborg scratched his head, dumbfounded.

The half-machine glanced over at the stove.

A few pieces of bacon and a cold egg remained.

“Sweet,” he said with a smile. He trudged up the steps heavily and into the kitchen. He reached for what was left, threw it on a plate, and slid it all into the microwave. “More for me Rob.”

He spotted Robin’s plate in the sink, three untouched pieces of his marvelous bacon.

“Man, Rob, the heck’s your problem?”

He snatched all three pieces up off the plate, and devoured all of them in a single chomp.

Even cold, he thought, toastin’ to perfection’s the key to flavor.

The microwave shouted its finish a few seconds later. Cyborg quickly yanked the door open, tossed the food into the air, and opened wide, receiving everything in a single swallow. He chewed a few seconds, letting the yolk mix with the meat, then swallowed, sighing happily.

The android Titan patted his cast-titanium belly, and burped loud enough to be heard across the room.

“Ah . . . why thank you Cyborg for that great meal,” he said to himself.

He took in a deep breath through his nostrils, breathed out of his mouth, and smiled ear to ear.

It’s quiet, for once.

“Talking to yourself,” Raven said, entering the room, “is never a positive sign for sanity’s sake.”

Cyborg would have jumped.

Fortunately, he had come to expect Raven popping up and out of places without warning. Her ‘intricate’ styles weren’t so intricate to the half-robot anymore.

“Oh, hey there Rae.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge after he had regained his composure. “What’s up? Where is everybody?”

Raven’s eyes looked glazed over as she passed him by.

“I don’t know,” she stated flatly, reaching for her tea pot on the counter.

Cyborg nabbed it out of reach with a playful smile on his face.

“Jump fer it sweetheart,” he said good-heartedly.

Raven glared coldly, leaving the human side of his face numb as she blasted him upside it with a thick, black surge of energy.

“Ow! You just struck a church-goin’ man!”

“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart’,” she growled.

“I’ll remember that . . .” he groaned, rubbing his cheek as it puffed up like a balloon, “for a long time.”

“And as for your earlier questions,” she continued, “in order, nothing’s ‘up’, and I don’t really care where the others are, truthfully.”

Cyborg finally got the feeling back into his face.

“Harsh,” he stated.

“You’ve known me for two years. Does that really surprise you?”

“Would it be weird if I said yes?”

Raven was silent.

“What’re ya so quiet for?” he asked.

“Cyborg? What’re you doing?”

“Trying to talk to ya.”

“. . .”

Cyborg sighed and leaned against the counter next to her. He had his arms crossed as he stared down at her, watching her mix some flavoring into her water.

“What flavor’s that?”

“. . .”

The half-robot leaned over to whisper something, but thought better of it, and pulled back. He righted himself and tapped a metal finger on his arm, trying to think of something non-lethal to himself to say. The last thing he wanted was to piss off a girl that could leave his circuits stuffed down his throat without too much effort.

“What?” she ground with a bitter voice.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking pretty loudly,” she stated. “Think twice before asking it.”

Cyborg smiled nervously. “Heheh . . . c’mon Rae, don’t be like that.”

He took a swig of water before continuing. “I was just gonna ask why you’ve been so . . . ‘more you’ lately.”

“It’s nothing for you to bug me about.”

“I’m not bugging you about it . . .”

“From your point of view, perhaps not.”

“Well . . . actually, to tell you the truth Rae . . . I’m worried about it.”

Raven raised an eyebrow and looked up.

“Is it the . . . y’know, ‘visions’?”

She sighed.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“It’s not something for you, or any of the others to worry about. Keep it to yourself.”

Cyborg blinked, having lost his smug grin a long time ago. Now his face was hard, serious, and full of worry.

“Alright, fine,” he said, “I won’t tell any of the others. But I wanna know more about these little things you’re seeing.”

Raven narrowed her eyes at her reflection in the cup staring back at her.

“No.”

Cyborg raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Raven seemed to twitch with irritation. “I can’t.”

Cyborg repeated himself, “Why not?”

Raven was silent once again.

Now it was Cyborg’s turn to be aggravated . . .

“Alright Raven,” he said with annoyance, crossing his arms, “you’ve been a real sweetie for the past few weeks since daddy dearest got his red ass spanked. You’ve gone out fer pizza with us, gone to movies, the beach, and you’ve even been easing up on the Miss Mystery pageant thing. You’re a person that we actually like to have around anymore, y’know that?”

Raven lowered her head.

“So don’t say, ‘You can’t,’ or, that ya don’t owe it to us. ‘Cuz y’know what? We’d go through the same thing for you. Now, why the sudden change?” he asked, lowering his voice to calm and consoling.

Silence.

“It involves my visions,” she finally said.

“And?”

Silence.

Then . . .

“And, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Cyborg blinked quizzically.

“The mirror thing. Wouldn’t that—”

“It wouldn’t work,” she interrupted. “It involves something . . . deeper, and more reclusive.”

“So? We’ll just go to that ‘deeper’ part, can’t we? Let me and B just try at least.”

“I said no,” she said firmly. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, but it wouldn’t do anything but hurt. This . . . this is something that I have to figure out, on my own.”

Cyborg frowned. “You don’t even wanna let us try?”

“No, Cyborg. It’s not your place.” She paused, then continued, “Besides . . . it’s not like I enjoy you and Beast Boy roaming my mindscape.”

Both were quiet for a moment.

“What’s the new book?”

Raven looked up, a bit surprised. “Huh?”

Raven noticed she was still carrying her small, pink book.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “It’s . . . something my mother gave me when I was born, to keep.”

Cyborg’s eyes softened. “It’s pretty special I bet.”

Raven nodded, turning away from him. “Yeah,” she said simply, “pretty special.”

With that, she left Cyborg alone, taking with her a cup of tea.

The half-machine rubbed his still-sore cheek. “Damn,” he complained.

And outside-

TTT

-the rain had picked up once again.

It wasn’t a tempest in strength like it had been the night before, but it sure as hell wasn’t a drizzle pecking at ‘his’ hair.

Fortune, a rarity, shined on him at the moment. His clothing helped to steel the dragon-boy against the maelstrom.

Whereas the wind pants and windbreaker he had once been wearing often clung to his skin in wet weather, the jeans he had taken stayed much warmer, and absorbed less moisture.

He smiled as he walked up Bay Avenue, perpendicular to the Jump City Harbor.

It could be worse, he attempted to encourage himself, wrapping his arms tightly. It could be below freezing, “Red Man” still bothering to chase me down . . .

He stopped in his tracks . . . or I could be dead . . .

He looked around.

Behind.

Left, to the other side of the street . . .

Listening.

Waiting . . .

Something was out of place.

Eyes were watching him, hidden in the dark, waiting to appear . . .

[Death_lash]

Oh, so he could hide his wings and tail!*sighs with relief* Man, that's better. I was beginning to wonder how on earth would he try to hide from whoever-that-is with that tail. And he can change his appearance into a normal boy-or is it man? What with all the goatee stuff confused me...*sighs*-, well, even better. You go, boy!:D The description was really good-could actually feel the dragon boy's nervousness and alertness. Hope he survives.
It seems like this story has two plot-one the dragon boy whose name not yet known, and one about Raven and her visions. I liked Cyborg and Raven's conversation-if you can call that conversation, not an arguement or something-kinda suited my mental image of Cy and Rae; Cy a big brother, feeling very responsible for his little sis; Rae a little sister who can be, say, quite cold to that big bro. I can't put this into my words; I hope you got what I mean:(
I'd like to see how this two would connect-it has to, doesn't it?-and I somehow have this feeling it might have something to do with that pink book. If it doesn't, well, my bad*looks away*

This story certainly looks promising-keep it up!:D


p.s.
Cyborg, going to a church? For a second there I couldn't imagine Cy-or Stone-standing with a red small book and singing Hymn number 286 or something like that. But then there aren't any other Titans who'd match the image of going to the church-hmm, Cy might go to a church. Okay...*confused*
p.s.2.
One dollar and sixty seven cents, for a pair of shoes, jeans, a jacket and a shirt. One dollar and sixty seven cents. Got me cracked up there:D

[Dragonscar]

Chapter Two
From a Dragon’s Eye—Part Two

He was silent as walked.

Cars zipped by casually on the main road running along the bay.

The constant honking of traffic in the inner city was growing more distant as he spaced himself from its town square.

Jump City . . .

A semi blaring by, brakes grinding, caused him to flinch.

He saw a few ships in the harbor, mostly cargo tankers and passenger ships and yachts, all varying in sizes.

One was pulling out to sea. Tiny tugboats yanked it out of its parking space and out into the open bay waters, then led it safely out into the Pacific.

The dragon-boy had stopped to watch it for the fifteen some-odd minutes it took.

The half-dragon had pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head.

His face hidden in the shadows, he felt that there was less of a threat on his life.

With the exception of chatter in the background, all was peaceful.

It seemed to just be a normal day in a bustling cityscape, if you could call any day of his life normal, at all.

Then, his attention turned immediately to behind himself.

A backlash of sorts, almost psychic it seemed, as if signifying a powerful telepath’s presence.

But then there was nothing.

All fell quiet.

Too quiet.

Thinking that, he gave himself chills.

Relax . . . he cooed himself gently, running his hair back under his hood to clear out his vision.

However, despite taking a deep breath and clearing his mind of the disturbing images in his mind, he swallowed hard and gazed up.

He scanned the ledges, all of them, carefully.

Fortunately, the rooftops were populated by nothing but air.

Sighing, he hugged himself tightly, and kept a vigilant eye open across the streets.

The dragon-boy kept his arms wrapped around himself. It made him feel all the more like he was wearing armor as he vigilantly watched for an ambush.

He still didn’t feel safe.

He continued on his walk. He took his steps slowly, not necessarily in a hurry to tire himself.

Even as he coaxed and tried to convince himself that the hunter that wouldn’t leave his mind was not there, he nonetheless kept a watchful eye above, beyond, and behind him.

It was silent, with the exception of the city noise, but he had grown used to it enough that it was hardly audible to him anymore. The only exceptions were when a nearby truck would blare its horn at an incautious pedestrian or inconsiderate driver. Otherwise, his surroundings were beginning to grow on him, and the more at home he felt, the safer it began to seem in his eyes as well.

He actually found it in himself to smile, ever so slightly.

“Extra! Extra!” a boy over on a street corner shouted, emphatically waving a newspaper in his clutches.

He was amused that the “Extra” line still had a place in the world in those days. His already dim smile widened slightly as he picked up a discarded quarter on the street.

“Extra!” the boy continued, “Titans halt terror operations in San Francisco Bay! Main suspects still at large!”

He fished for another quarter in his pocket.

Fortunately, the boy that was advertising the papers wasn’t holding full Sunday editions.

The half-dragon casually walked up to the boy and handed him the required amount of change.

“Fifty cents?” He glanced at the pair of quarters. “Okay, here ya go sir.” The paper boy pocketed the change and handed him a wrapped, dry paper.

“Extra! Extra!” he continued.

The half-dragon took the paper from the lad’s hands and put it under his arm to help keep the ink from running.

Thinking the paper would assist with crowd-blending, he changed direction.

He hesitated.

He stopped.

He thought.

. . . or, I could skip the crowd altogether.

He stroked his chin in concentration, continuing his normal-paced walk through the metropolitan area.

If I don’t hide where “Red Man” looks . . .

Best idea he had had in awhile, so he thought, and smirked to himself.

The runner shot his eyes all around himself, to look for such an area of withdrawal.

Bank . . .

Apartment complex . . .

Insurance building . . .

He raised an eyebrow in its direction, smiled slightly mischievously, then kept turning on his heel.

Restaurant . . .

Library . . .

Doctor’s office . . .

The dragon-boy sighed loudly enough for anyone to hear him.

The grey showers . . . Some thunder rolled angrily in the distance, and a far-off lightning strike lit the horizon over the waters. An angry thunderhead pressed towards the mainland from the ocean.

He gave it fifteen minutes before it pounced on the innocent bay town. It was yet another hindrance to survival, he had learned. Fall showers tended to be almost as bad as snow, if only for the cold fronts they rode with.

Dragonscar growled to himself, fastened the last button on his jacket, and hissed inwardly.

A cold breeze blew in from the west. He shivered violently.

Thinking the bank was as good as anywhere else, his stride lengthened again and the sign in front of the large building became clear.

The Second International Trust . . .

“Wow.”

The place was huge!

Any other bank in the city, well, all of the other banks in the city would envy such a place as this. All of its sister facilities in the area combined couldn’t take up the space of that which stood before him.

It appeared to be another library at first, as it had the look of it about it. A large, circular staircase led the way up to the doorway. The platform was guarded by four pillars with large stone gargoyles carved into them. The only dead giveaway was the large sign posted out on the sidewalk near the curb, currently providing the temperature and time.

9:37 . . .

58° . . .

A powerful surge went through his spine and down towards the empty base that was the tip of his retracted tail. “No wonder it’s cold as hell.”

58° was more like thirty to him. He was grateful for his decent clothing. The wind-weather outfit had been working for crap, he was unashamed to say.

“Wonder how warm it is inside.”

The doors were heavy, but that was saying little as he pulled it open.

The warm air felt like a dream against his bare skin, and smiled as he looked around.

The inside of the bank appeared almost as large as it was on the outside. Plenty of space to serve hundreds of people shelter from bad weather. Even better, there were only the tellers and a few customers in line. The place was dimly lit with a few dozen chandeliers hung by chain from the ceiling. The floor was clearly made of marble, producing a clack-clacking of shoes as people walked across it. Three groups of green, commercial chairs, whose poor support sucked you into them, lined the lobby. The windows were beaded with rain, and the grey light of the precession of the thunderstorm coming in from the Pacific gave the room an eerie glow.

His hair was the first thing he dried out, pulling back his hood and shaking the shoulder-length locks out. Water dripped from his newly ‘acquired’ jean jacket. He sighed and stepped forward towards the end of the waiting area farthest away from the occupied booths.

The chair he sat down in, while not exactly Heaven itself, was far more comfortable than the asphalt he had slept on the night before. He actually found it in himself to purr for a moment, before realizing how loud he was, and silencing himself.

He pulled the newspaper out of its wet packaging, flipped it open to the front page and stared at one of the smoking support frames of the Golden Gate Bridge. The road leaned heavily to one side, a few empty cars threatening to go for a swim in the bay river. It looked like there were a few people in the water judging by the various dots, indistinguishable from the distance the camera was at.

A larger picture, lower on the page, revealed one of the local heroes, the Titans, he believed they were, tending to injured and the bridge at the same time.

It looked like the largest of their team had been attending to the cables and keeping the bridge up, assisted by a girl in a blue robe.

A large dinosaur, a diplodocus perhaps, was standing underneath the road, keeping it upright, while a long-haired girl, holding none other than the Boy Wonder, the Masked Marvel, Robin himself, while he roped it all together again.

“Hm . . .” he hummed.

Local Superheroes Persevere Against Terrorist Threat . . .

“Scary day and age we live in,” he muttered.

His eyes ran up and down the print, not really reading or absorbing anything, but more skimming and picking out a few details pertinent to the story.

It was apparent that a terrorist cell had found their way past securities, into the depths of the bridges, and down to the river, where they planted a large amount of explosives.

The dragon-boy took another look at the completely ruined leg of the bridge.

It appeared that, whatever terror cell it was, knew what they were doing.

He shuffled through the paper to the next page.

“Fortunately, after the mayhem reached a peak, and the National Guard was stressed to its limits, the Teen Titans of Jump City made their grand debut.”

The Titans? He blinked quizzically, as if he thought he’d know the name of a superhero group supposedly as famous as they. Interesting . . .

He continued to read from there, learning about how the five different individuals arrived “right on time”. The text explained the pictures on the front as the first shots of the terrorist movement taken.

The story told that there were, so far, 14 wounded, and that was the worst of it. A few million dollars worth of damage was nothing next to the fact that, whatever the bombers had been trying to do, they didn’t succeed.

“Meh,” he muttered, folding the paper twice over, and slipping it into his jacket’s inner pocket. A stack of magazines on the end table next to him was his new line of attention.

Glamour, USA Today, even old Life magazines. There were a few magazines for which he had no use, such as a gamer’s guide and a PC manual, so he paid them no heed.

He decided on the Life magazine, and flipped it open to the cover story, being about a lethal plague strain spreading across the heart of Africa. Quarantines were already being set up so no one with possible infections could leave the area of effect. The text stated that it was an aggressive disease too, usually only requiring three or four days to do its ultimate work: Death.

Even more unnerving, was the fact that it had been a biological weapon designed by “an unknown parent country”.

The US’s presidential advisors had stated that “whoever was responsible for the atrocity would be found, and dealt with”. The half-dragon had enough sense to know what it meant.

It meant that they were the probable cause of it, testing an experimental weapon of their own. However, someone found out about it, or survived the experimentation long enough to tell the tale to someone who’d know what to make of it.

Frustrated and angry, for reasons he did not know, he tossed it aside. It landed divided with a loud FLAP!

The half-dragon crossed his legs and folded his arms, staring out at the storm just starting to rage outside. Lightning flashed brightly, thunder crackled angrily, and rain splattered in large bucketfuls along the streets, and pebble-sized pieces of hail thundered against the pavement. Anyone who was unfortunate enough to be outside at a time like this quickly ran for cover or made haste for their destination.

The dragon-boy was happy he had found the bank beforehand. Just from looking at the storm, he had doubts about his survival odds.

More thunder rolled, growing closer by the minute. A quick glance at the bank’s street board told him the temperature had fallen three or four degrees in the past five minutes.

Damn, he thought, reaching and scratching the back of his neck nervously.

Everything was silent for the moment, except for the torrential raindrops impacting the window with loud splats and explosive splashes.

He wasn’t aware of the shadowy figure walking up the steps of the bank and through the doorway.

TTT

Kiesha Smith was happy with her job. Being a bank secretary wasn’t what anyone could call a dream, but it was satisfactory by any means.

It wasn’t overly demanding to the point where she couldn’t be at home with her husband of three months. It didn’t work her so hard that she fell straight into bed when she got there either.

Pay was decent, and it bought her everything she wanted. Besides that fact, it kept her life interesting, instead of sitting around the house all day.

She yawned as she finished a financial transaction for one of the bank’s more prestigious members, stretched to the ceiling, and popped a few of her joints. She sighed happily and leaned to the side both ways, before taking the top off of her bottle of water and taking a sip.

“Ahh . . .” she sighed, setting down her pencil. She stood up, turned off the lamp over her desk, and navigated the maze of desks to the teller booth.

She had pulled the braid out of her hair by the time she reached the front of the building.

“Kiesha!” a familiar voice shouted nearby.

The called turned to face the source of her summoning.

“Kiesha!” it called again.

“Suzie!” she returned with a happy smile, waving at the attention-demanding character down the way. Susan Walker was an old friend from high school she had just happened to keep in touch with throughout college. Both had gone to a university near Jump, and returned to their hometown to the nest again.

Kiesha ambled up to the third booth where the shout came from. Susan, who was leaning over a check to cash, responded, “Don’t even start that again, unless you want me ta start callin’ ya Cookie again.”

“Whoa, claws are out today, aren’t they?” she returned with a chuckle. “What’s up?”

Susan turned towards her, sad puppy face on.

“Oh no.”

“Pwease?” she begged, grabbing her hands.

“No.”

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?!”

Kiesha rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you ever eat breakfast before you come to work?”

“I was going to be late, I swear to Gawd! I barely got to the stop in time for the bus!”

“Save for a car!”

Susan pouted and fake-bawled. “Oh, Cookie! C’mon! Pleeeeeeease?!”

Kiesha flinched. She hated being called Cookie.

“PLEASE?! I’ll be five minutes, ten minutes tops!”

The secretary twitched

“Alright!” she finally conceded, “Alright! I’ll cover for you . . . for fifty bucks.”

Susan winced. “I knew there was a catch.”

“Still wanna take a break?”

“Pooh on you,” the teller said, sticking her tongue out at her, turning back to her station. A smirk appeared on her face—one that Keisha couldn’t see.

“Alright, alright. Go ahead.”

Susan grinned, pivoted on her heel, and threw her arms around her old girlfriend. “You are a sweetie! Be back in a few! Thanks!”

“Yeah,” Kiesha returned, rolling her eyes with a smile, “Just make sure it’s just ‘a few’ or there’ll be hell ta pay.” She took Susan’s place as she navigated her way out.

The secretary then groaned and clasped her growling abdomen, reminded of why she had gotten up in the first place. “Ugh, bathroom break . . . need . . .” she whined.

Kiesha looked down at what Suzie had been working on.

“How can she work like this?” Her girlfriend’s desk area was a mess with papers, contracts, checks, assorted pencils and pens, and other money-related crud. She decided to tidy things up in her time spent waiting.

“Lucky thing for her I’m here, or she’d have been fired a long time ago.” The pencils went into a coffee cup near the front, contracts and other financial reports similar went into a pile next to them, and checks got shredded and tossed into a waste basket.

Nice and neat.

She’d probably get yelled at by Sue later because “she had had everything the way she wanted it,” which was a lie, and then be thanked later on.

Susan was easily one of the most disorganized people she had ever known, and yet, somehow, she got by on it. Kiesha didn’t know how she did it. She wouldn’t last a day in such a cluttered mess, but her friend had endured such conditions for as long as she had known her.

She sighed. What was she going to do with her?

The young secretary sat down, pulled a pencil from the cup, nabbed a notepad from the drawer, and began to doodle. In her off time, she was an artist, loving wife, and journalist. She was especially good with daisies.

Everything was eerily quiet for a few minutes, with the exception of the scraping of a pencil along paper, and the calming, distant background noise of the storm. Within a few minutes, a grey and white flower began to take form.

Someone rapped on the window.

Kiesha looked up . . .

. . . and stared into the barrel of an 8mm pistol.

TTT

He nearly fell asleep where he sat. The sound of clacking on the floor drew him back to wakefulness.

His eyes went into their normal slits for a moment, before resuming a normal, humanesque brown.

“Mm?” he grunted. He blinked, turning around to see who the newcomer was.

The half-dragon sighed with relief to see it wasn’t who he thought it was.

He lowered his head to rest again.

“Where’s the vault?” he heard in the background. His sensitive ears twitched as he opened one eye again.

A short series of screams . . .

“SHUT YOUR GOD-DAMNED MOUTH!” the voice roared.

Glass broke.

The dragon-boy opened both eyes and slowly pivoted his head to the center of the action.

The man he had seen coming noisily into the building had shattered through the glass by bashing it with the butt of his pistol, and grabbed the woman.

The few clients in the building screamed and fell to their stomachs. The hostage in the powerful-appearing man’s grasp squirmed vainly, whimpered in fear, and hugged herself tightly, saying silent prayers.

“Alright! Listen up!” the robber shouted, firing a round at the rotunda in the center of the room, causing painted stone and glass to come tumbling down. Rain followed the destruction in. “Unless anyone wants me ta paint the walls with this woman’s insides- What’s your name sweetheart?” he whispered into her ear.

The woman was crying desperately, begging for mercy and salvation through gasps and sobs.

“What’s yer name?” he asked again, more forcefully this time.

“K-Kiesha,” she bawled.

“Kiesha, huh?” he droned. “Pretty name,” he complimented. He turned back to the crowd of people. “Unless anyone wants me to paint the walls with Kiesha’s blood, then stay down, and stay shut up!” He pulled out a second pistol from his coat pocket, larger, and far more powerful than the first. He pressed it into the small of Kiesha’s back and forced her forward. She held her hands up and nearly fell to the floor. He forced her to stay standing though, and pressed on. “Where’s the vault?” he demanded.

She was too torn to answer. Her face was drowned with tears and sweat, and she was trembling from all of the adrenaline pumping into her bloodstream.

“Don’t make me ask you everything twice,” he growled, growing frustrated. “Where – is – the – frickin’ – vault?”

She screamed when he felt the gun press tighter against her back, took a deep, shuddering breath, and sobbed, “S-s-second floor.”

“Good girl.”

“FREEZE!” The half-dragon looked up as three security guards came charging down the marble stairway, taking point and lining up their shots with the man’s forehead.

The man quickly shifted to use her as a shield.

“Don’t make me blow her ****in’ head off!” he demanded. “Put yer guns down and get down on the floor, right now!” Kiesha squirmed and closed her eyes, fearing what would happen next.

The guards froze for what seemed like an eternity.

A stare down ensued, with the bad guy eventually coming out on top.

All three guards held up their hands that weren’t holding their weapons, refusing to yield either way. “Okay man, take it easy,” the elder one coaxed. “We’ll put our weapons down, okay? Then you can let her go, alright?”

“That ain’t the deal!” the robber stated, pressing the larger pistol to her forehead.

The hostage screamed weakly and tightened her eyes.

“Throw them guns down where you are, and get down on the floor, and she can live! Otherwise, I pull the trigger, and she’s nothing but a shield!”

The staring contest continued for a few moments, before the lead guard nodded to his two younger colleagues. All three lowered their weapons to the marble flooring, placed their hands on their heads, and slowly joined the group of hostages.

“That’s better!” The robber maneuvered his way around the security team, keeping his hostage between her and them. Both ascended the stairway backwards together. The robber grabbed the weapons of the security team on his way up.

“A-are you going to k-kill me?” she sputtered quietly. She trembled horribly in his grip. No hope of escape that didn’t involve death.

“Not if you’re a good girl,” he whispered with a nervous smile in her ear. “You’re gonna open that big vault for me, aren’t you?”

His gun pressed hard against her neck.

“YES! Yes! I’ll do it!” she bawled.

As both up and rounded the corner, the half-dragon stood up calmly, crossed the floor to the base of the stairs, which caused a lot of ruckus amongst the other captives itself, and began to quietly climb. The other people got up and ran the opposite direction, security escorting them out, and leaving the insane vigilante to his own devices. The approaching sirens of police cruisers neither hindered nor hastened the pace of him.

TTT

“RAAAUGH!” Robin yelled, flinging one last roundhouse kick at the dangling target, hitting it dead on with a powerful WHACK! echoing across the gym.

The Boy Wonder leapt into the air, ready to deliver another powerful blow-

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The lead Titan looked up at the sudden alarm, and landed flat on his hindquarters due to the lack of concentration.

“Ow,” he groaned, rubbing his lumbar region.

He quickly flipped up to his feet, and was out the door in a flash.

TTT

Black oil shot out of the lubricator and onto Cyborg’s face.

“GOD DAMMIT!” came the frustrated roar from the garage. The voice was so loud it echoed off the walls and onto the undercarriage of his Baby. The reflecting wave of sound immediately split his head down the middle, and he instinctively tried to rise to his feet.

A second bang resounded as his half-metal head impacted the underside of his car.

“Dammit times two!” went his ferocious growl.

After a few seconds of shuffling and fiddling with the underside of the car, he sighed and slid out from underneath, greased, and extremely unhappy.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Cyborg looked up and ground his teeth together.

“Cripes! Now what?!” he growled, flipping into a standing position and thundering over to the elevator. “Somebody better be ready for an ass-kickin’!”

TTT

“Oh, glorious day!” Starfire beamed, throwing around one of her boots in a ball fashion like she had seen Cyborg do with Robin and Beast Boy before in their time off—which landed on one of her many dolls.

Granted, the ‘ball of feet’ they had thrown around was more of brownish-tan color, and not very foot-shaped.

“I cannot wait to induce my skills upon the ‘pigskin’! I do so hope it is not difficult to learn!”

She quickly retrieved her boot, which she had not succeeded in catching the first time.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“Oh dear!” She quickly yanked her boot on over her bare foot, darted over to her door, and disappeared down the hall to the congregation room.

TTT

“Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos . . .”

“Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos . . .”

“Azar-”

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Raven opened one of her eyes and glanced at the rotating, red beacon on her ceiling. “Perfect,” she droned.

Her cloak went to her as summoned.

She fastened it, phased through the wall, and drifted on to the main room.

TTT

. . .

“. . . Zzz . . .”

. . .

“. . . Zzz . . .”

. . .

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“. . . Zzz . . .”

. . .

The Boy Wonder grabbed Beast Boy by the shoulder and dragged him dazedly out of bed and to the front of the Tower.

TTT

Cyborg was waiting at the wall computer, furiously pounding at the keyboard, still with black stains all over his titanium body. He hadn’t even tried to rinse himself off yet, as Robin wouldn’t be happy with him if he weren’t there.

Speaking of Robin . . .

The double steel doors hissed open, announcing the arrival of Raven and Starfire. Robin, dragging Beast Boy by his forearm, wasn’t too far behind.

“Cyborg. What’re we looking at?” the Boy Wonder asked, releasing the changeling.

“Looks like a robbery in progress. Corner of Twenty-Sixth and Bayside.”

Robin leaned over his shoulder.

“Who is it?”

“Eh, your everyday bank robber. No Control Freak, or Fang, or anything like that.”

“Anything we should know? Armaments?”

“It’s a hostage situation. Looks like one person, a secretary named . . . hang on.” Cyborg clicked around a few files and images until he got to one named Staff. He swiveled the mouse to Profiles, double-clicked, and compared a frozen security camera image to a profile picture. “Kiesha Jason Smith. Female. Age: 20. She lives on the North side with her husband, Bryan Vincent Smith, husband of three months. He’s a cop, Jump City Police Department, so, no doubt he’ll be there.”

“Any information on the kidnapper?”

“I had it a second ago. Hang on.” He shuffled through various on-screen documents before coming to the one Robin wanted. “Got it, uh . . .” He looked through the profile. “Jordan Olson Welles, founder and owner of recently-bankrupted Welles Enterprises. Seems like the poor guy’s company lost a ton of money gambling on the Stock Market, namely a company called Jackson & Sons. He made a few bad investments, and it cost him . . . big time. Recently, his house just got foreclosed, and now he’s living out on the streets. Denied welfare for his views on the political system.” Cyborg scratched the human side of his head. “Damn . . .”

“That’s an understatement,” Raven droned, raising an eyebrow. “It says he still owes more than $300,000.”

“You’d think that bankruptcy would get you out of that. At least, it’s supposed to. However . . .” He typed a few keys, and a ‘secret’ contract popped up. “. . . I think Jackson paid off someone in the government ladders to ‘lose track’ of some paperwork.”

“And you would know this, how?”

Cyborg sweatdropped.

“Uh . . . well, it’s what I’d do if I were Mr. Jackson. To keep a multinational corporation like his running, you’ve gotta have a lot of friends in high places when things go under. Money’s a powerful thing, you know.”

Robin sighed, “This is all very thrilling, but we do have more pressing matters that require our immediate attention.”

Cyborg smiled bashfully and scratched the back of his neck as he rose from his chair. “Right, sorry. Let’s go.”

“Titans! Move!”

[Pun-3x]

Well, it's late as I read this, so I'll do the first chapter and come back for the second. :)

I like how the story starts. Granted, I've read plenty of stories that starts with some new guy being chased, and that's our introduction to the new character. Nothing original in that case, but with that said it intrigued me. I was the same as Death_Lash, at least in that I figured it was a regular being chased. (I had my money on Slade--the whole narrative about everyone getting scared at some point in their life made me think "It'd be interesting to see Slade scared. Wonder if this is him?") And yeah, then there was the tail, and the half-dragon mention (and the torn wings). Now I have to see where this goes.

Your portrayal of the characters so far is quite nice. The usual banter over the Gamestation helped bring the characters right at home, and your adding of character quirks (BB's Vegetarianism, etc.) worked just right. Sometimes these kinds of things get done in a rush, or writers will even copy lines directly from an episode to portray these characteristics, so I'm glad to see it done so nicely. So far, so good here. :)

Now, we have Raven. The concept of her having these awful visions AFTER the defeat of Trigon leads one to wonder exactly what this is all about. Is it Trigon's eventual return? Is it something completely different? (I think) There's obviously a connection with our new dragon friend with the descriptions of pain and torture in Raven's visions. I like how the scene was written--it takes it's time, and some might feel a little too much. To me, it feels like it's getting the point across.

Oh, and I also like the use of the original comic's background for Raven as well as the origin of the Titans, to a degree. It's fun when you have more than one source to grab from.

There was one particular thing I wanted to point out:

“You can try,” the boy says desperately. It’s obvious he questions his own words. “But I’ll fight you as long as I can raise an arm. I’ll run wherever I can.”
“You’ve eluded me much longer than any of your brothers or sisters,” the voice continues softly as the footsteps grow closer,
There was another one following these two in the beginning, but to make the obvious point these were written in present tense where the rest of the story is in past tense. I'm not sure if it was a slip-up or something intentional. Both, past and present tense can work to tell a story, but they have to be consistent. Once you pick which way you're going to go, you need to stay with it.

And if that was simply a screw-up on your part, then I'm sure I'm being redundant here. :sweat:

Anyway, I'll be sure to read chapter 2 tomorrow. So far, I'm quite interested to see where this'll go.

[Dragonscar]

(Thanks for the reviews guys. I'm taking everything into account as I go. You're all a big help. ^_^)

Chapter Two
From a Dragon’s Eye—Part Three

“Which way?” ‘Jordan’ asked.

Kiesha gasped as the nozzle of the gun pressed against her temple.

“To the right, down that hallway,” she squeaked. She lifted her arm, pointed shakily, and fell deathly quiet once again, afraid that the slightest provocation could end her life with the pull of a trigger.

“Good girl.”

He had his powerful arm around her neck in an unbreakable hold.

She had to lean her legs outward and walk slightly ahead of him; uncomfortable, but necessary to keep him from stepping all over her heels.

The vault they were looking for wasn’t too far down the way. The expansive hallways echoed their footsteps as they walked.

Every once in awhile, the kidnapper would glance behind them, and make sure that they weren’t being followed.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he questioned her.

She was afraid to respond, so remained quiet.

“Do you?”

Kiesha gulped. She sobbed, “No, no I don’t.”

Her kidnapper was silent for a moment.

“That’s okay,” he finally stated. “I didn’t expect you to anyway . . . Nobody does anymore. Nobody . . .”

He ground his teeth.

“How long’s it been now?” he growled to himself. “A week? A month?” He huffed angrily, unintentionally tightening his arm around Kiesha’s neck.

She gagged and gasped for breath, letting out a short scream of desperation.

“That damned Ethan Jackson’s fault! He promised that his company was in a state of perfection. He tells me to invest huge in his company and I’ll double that amount back out of it!”

She couldn’t breathe. Her hands clawed at his forearm.

They had stopped walking at this point.

It didn’t matter to her.

Her face was turning blue from constriction and lack of air. The young secretary’s chest burned, and heart beat against her chest.

“******** I did! ‘Old friend’ my ass! Just goes to show you, ya can’t trust anyone anymore! Even your old college roommate’ll take your money, kick you in the groin, and leave you there. He takes the money I gave him, buys my company’s foundation out from under it, and gets all the richer and more powerful!”

Kiesha barely held onto consciousness long enough for him to regain some calmness.

She took in as deep a gulp of breath as she could, then issued out a short shout.

He was still growling angrily, very possibly leaving large purple bruises on her neck.

“Please . . .” she sobbed painfully.

“IT’S ALL HIS DAMN FAULT!” he roared.

Kiesha’s ear rung. She flinched.

The deafening roar of a handgun going off blanked everything else out.

The captive screamed loudly, and waited for Death to claim her soul . . .

Silence followed for a few moments thereafter. She could hear nothing except the sounds of her ears ringing.

She broke one of her eyes opened.

She was still alive, still in the bank, still in the crushing embrace of a psychopathic robber.

The former company president and owner had shot the gun towards a nearby window, shattering an old stained glass window into a thousand pieces. It rained down in a symphony of jingles and the pitter-patter of rain outside.

Her sobs came faster now, his fingers digging into her collarbone through the gun’s trigger.

“I guess you don’t get it . . .” he spat. “That’s okay. You’ve never owned a multinational military hardware corporation like mine.”

He drug her down the hallway as he continued.

“It was one of the biggest in the world. Gates himself would have been proud to own it . . . and now it’s all gone.”

“B-but, why are you taking this out on me?” she squeaked desperately.

“Don’t take it personally,” he ground. “All I need is a certain amount of money to get back onto my feet. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time sweetie.”

Kiesha swallowed the sore in her throat and said the Lord’s Prayer over and over in her head.

Lightning flashed outside, almost immediately followed by deafening thunder and the dimming of the overhead lights.

The vault was enormous, to say the least. The entire width of the oval-shaped door took up half of the large wall. They appeared to be high-security sliding doors that wouldn’t simply open by blowing the lock off of it. The thief growled in frustration, and shoved her forward, ahead of him.

“Open it.”

Kiesha looked at him, saw a gun pointed at her, and took a deep breath as she stumbled forward.

TTT

A half-dragon crawled across the shadowy ceiling, watching both of the people below.

The dragon-boy’s claw emerged, sparkling with electricity, out of the ceiling, disguising his motion with a flash of lightning and thunder. The chandeliers went dark below him as he crawled along, and his lips curled upwards when neither of them bothered to look up.

The man below had released ‘Kiesha’ and shoved her a few steps across the room. She was still in the sights of the guns the robber was holding below.

Deciding not to chance her getting shot, he waited as she stumbled forward.

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he crawled more towards the vault.

Dragonscar’s wings and tail had emerged out of his back in the stressful situation. He grabbed hold of one of the thick chains holding a lighting fixture to the ceiling, and slid down slowly, so as not to draw any undue attention.

The light below him rattled under his great weight.

Fortunately, it didn’t make any noise.

“Hurry up! The cops are here already!”

“I’m trying!”

“Try harder! We’re running out of time!”

Moments of silence ensued, the only thing breaking it was the beeping of the number pad as the said hostage punched in the keys to open the vault.

A few series of beeps and whistles later, the door slid apart and revealed a massive inner chamber, almost half the size of the bank itself.

It was then the half-dragon realized that there was easily enough money in the chamber to buy Disneyworld.

He had overheard the ex-president’s little conversation on the way up the stairs. He already knew what the man planned to do with all that money, if he could find a way to get it out.

Unless one was a person that was uncivilized, didn’t have a TV, or even lived in an area without a TV, it was impossible to not recognize the name ‘Jordan Welles’. The dragon-boy, while he didn’t ‘live’ anywhere per se, still knew that his company had been bought under by the Jackson & Sons conglomerate. Jackson and Welles had been old friends, but recent actions told a different tale.

The kidnapper stepped forward, peered into the vault, and squinted.

It was dark in the vault. Only emergency lights lit the back walls of it, and there were only the dim outlines of anything valuable to keep him entranced.

“Ugh . . .” the burglar suddenly growled. “I don’t think I thought this the whole way through.”

Kiesha had been edging away, slowly.

Five feet.

…

Seven feet.

…

Ten feet.

…

The former company executive stepped deeper in, totally forgetting his hostage.

Perfect.

His tail loosened its grip on the chain.

His shoes made a quick clack on the floor as he landed behind her.

Kiesha’s eyes widened, and she turned to face whoever it had been that landed behind her.

The dragon-boy wrapped his arm around her mouth to keep her from screaming.

“Quiet,” he whispered, “unless you want to be used as target practice.”

The secretary immediately quieted down.

The half-dragon rose off of the ground with a heavy beat of his wings, carrying her in his powerful grasp. The shattered stained glass window loomed in his way. Kiesha’s eyes widened in fear as he picked up speed.

The opening wasn’t nearly large enough for them to both squeeze through at once!

“Keep your head down,” he stated, no longer whispering. He uncovered her mouth and allowed her to breathe.

He could hear the startled, angry cry of the former-company owner behind him.

By then, it was too late . . .

The dragon-boy’s wings folded into his back once again, and he dove for the top half section of the concrete wall, aiming Keisha’s body for the cleared window opening.

The opening exploded in a shower of crystalline shards, rock, and dust. The half-dragon’s leather-like wings wrapped around her to protect her from getting shredded.

They both dropped out of thin air and down to the ground, feet first.

Kiesha screamed loudly as they descended into the throng of police cruisers and officers.

Terra Firma . . .

She breathed in desperately, clutching at her savior’s chest for dear life.

A buzz of activity surrounded her as the all-too-familiar pistols were pointed in her direction. She winced briefly before the weapons were lowered.

“Weapons down!” the squad lieutenant shouted.

The order was obeyed as several officers rushed forward.

The half-dragon loosened his grip around her torso, and released her.

“Kiesha!”

She was greeted with the arms of an apparently familiar cop.

The secretary was stunned at first, but soon found herself bawling into the shoulder of her husband.

“Kiesha! Thank God you’re alright! Thank God!!!” he praised, holding her tightly against herself.

The man’s wife could only cry . . .

TTT

The dragon-boy watched from across the way, getting cold just by watching the couple become drenched in the rainfall. Thunder echoed harshly in the steel canyon, disturbing his ears noticeably and causing them to twitch irritably.

A blanket was suddenly draped over his winged shoulders as he leaned against a cruiser.

He looked up.

Police lieutenant . . .

“How’re you feeling?” he was asked simply.

The half-dragon raised an eyebrow, and then continued to stare at the couple that hadn’t stopped hanging on each other since he had rescued the girl.

Another officer had started holding an umbrella over them to keep them drier than they were.

“I’ll take that as a, ‘Just fine,’” the smug officer grunted.

The ‘Hero of the Day’ snorted.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not the talkative type.”

“Aw, that a fact?”

A nod was his answer.

“You and about half the people in my corps. at this point.”

“Can you blame them?” he sighed, a solid mist drifting out of his mouth.

“Can’t say I do. I guess it’s just a relief that you showed up.”

“Nobody really seemed surprised,” he droned.

“Well, heh, when you live in a city with five teenaged superheroes watching over ya, this is just par for the course.”

“It sounds logical—in a partial sense, at least.”

“We’re not exactly your typical town.”

“. . .”

“I assume you’re not from here if you don’t know who the Titans are, am I right?”

“You could say that.”

“So, if that’s the case, where’re you from?”

The subject of the conversation stopped for a moment.

The boy blinked.

He frowned.

“Not sure,” he answered. An officer, at that time, stepped up to him, and handed him a cup of hot cocoa.

He accepted it gladly, and took a long drag from it, only stopping when he had downed the whole thing.

He continued, “I can’t really say that I have an ‘origin’.”

“Is that the tragedy part of your story, kid?”

He blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, every hero’s got some sort of tragedy that defines his career.” The grey man stopped. “That’s my theory anyway. I mean, there’s no other reason I can figure that you’d wanna be a hero otherwise . . .”

Silence.

“The boys’re spreading rumors already that you’re a new Titan.”

The dragon-boy cast a glance at him and raised an eyebrow.

“A what?”

“You know, a Titan. Heroes? Teenaged?” He made a motion towards the bay area. “Live in the big T?”

He stared.

“Teen Titans, kid.”

“I’m going to tell you to drop the ‘kid’ thing right now. It’s very demeaning.”

“Sure thing.” He took a brief pause. “Anyway, ya should look ‘em up sometime.”

The half-dragon rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll pass on the offer.”

The lieutenant glanced at him and shrugged.

“Never knew a teen hero that wouldn’t wanna be a Titan. That’s something new.”

More silence.

“Name’s Charles Patterson. I’m the lieutenant of the Jump City Police Department.”

“Pleasure,” the half-dragon grumbled.

“So, uh, what are ya, some sorta demon-human thing, er . . .” His voice trailed off.

The half-dragon glared sharply.

“Dragon,” he hissed.

The lieutenant withdrew, his hands up. “Dragon. Got it.”

He was about to continue when his walkie-talkie: BEEP!

“Oh. Excuse me for a sec.” He turned away.

The dragon-boy’s tail tapped on the pavement nervously as he gazed around, staring at the rooftops above him.

Nothing yet . . . he thought to himself. Even a quick sniff of the air told him that his mortal enemy was nowhere near.

He hoped it would stay that way for the time being.

“-just be careful when you move in, alright? He might still be armed and dangerous. He doesn’t have a hostage anymore so that might make him fight harder, or give up quicker.”

The half-dragon turned back towards the man in charge.

“Look, don’t make any big moves until the Titans get here, alright?”

A beat.

“No, I know it’s your job but-“

Pause.

“Who was-“

Police officers pointed their weapons up towards the second floor of the bank as two gunshots went off over the radio.

The lieutenant dropped his talkie, surprised by the sudden noise.

He quickly scooped it back up.

“Chase! Chase, talk to me dammit!”

There was shouting over the mike as more gunshots were fired.

The lieutenant turned to face the teen superhero that had just helped minutes before.

“Hey! Listen we ne-“

He was gone.

TTT

A fierce firefight ensued as soon as the lead SWAT member rounded the corner.

Chandler Chase, leader of the first response team, was the first to be cut down by a hail of bullet fire. His blood stained the floor.

The mass of chaos that ensued was disastrous.

Squad mates, seeing their leader killed before their very eyes, did the worst possible thing in response . . .

They panicked.

Everyone dove for cover behind marble pillars firing blindly in the dark, illuminating only themselves, and not the shooter.

“Aaaauuuugh!” another SWAT member yelled, collapsing behind a marble pillar. “I’m hit!!!” His lower leg was bleeding all over the floor.

One of his bolder buddies ran from his position behind another pillar, and to his side to administer treatment.

Jordan Welles was hiding behind his own pillar, attempting to hold out longer than the SWAT team could.

He peeked around the corner, and fired a single shot, then dove for the vault again, taking advantage of the fortified—not to mention valuable—interior.

He shouted the only thing he could think of.

“I’m not leaving here without what belongs to me!”

A few of the SWAT members who had taken point actually rolled their eyes and returned fire with their semi-automatics, scoring no hits, but at least rattling the bank robber’s nerves.

Indeed, it had worked.

But, despite the fact that he was outgunned, and outmanned, he felt secure in his position. The vault he had taken refuge in could withstand a direct hit from a tank shell, so until he starved to death, he was safe.

“So this really was suicidal,” he muttered to himself, collapsing inside against the wall.

It was suicide.

There was no way out.

He was dead where he stood, or would rot in prison without anything to return to when his sentence was up . . . if it was ever up.

He was no longer thinking about anything else, other than himself.

Nothing else mattered anymore.

Revenge was all that was on his mind by that point.

He had wanted it so badly, he lost sight of his dignity. Even worse, he seemed to have lost hold of his humanity.

Everything he had came crumbling down around him in shambles. Like a shattered stained glass window, the pieces of his life rained down around him.

There was nothing left to live for . . .

His life was over.

There was nothing left . . .

“RRRRAAAUGH!” he howled angrily, knocking aside a stack of coins.

They clattered to the floor in a noisy cacophony of sound, followed by the angry bellow of thunder and flash of lightning.

Along with the sudden flash of light, a massive shadow stretched across the entire chamber from the illuminated threshold.

Jordan panicked, screamed, and turned to face that direction.

Two rounds left his twin pistols.

Nothing howled. No one screamed. The bullets slammed into the metal threshold with a resounding metal “ping”, and clattered to the floor.

Something ruffled nearby. Movement!

The robber gulped loudly and shot several more rounds along the room, before realizing that the precious currency he had come for was being caught in the crossfire.

He ceased his mindless firing, and listened.

Something was in the room with him.

“W-who’s there?!” he demanded, keeping his shaky hands as steady as he could. His eyes darted back and forth, watching for the invisible enemy.

He quickly ejected the two emptied clips, slammed two replacements home, and brought them back level with his eyes.

Sweat drenched his face as he realized he was fighting blind . . .

He backed up against the wall, sweat rolling in rivers down his face. His breaths were long and gasping.

He shuddered with a chill.

“I know you’re there!” he declared loudly. He could hear more rustling where he couldn’t see.

He saw shadows . . .

The demons of the night . . .

Everything was working against him now.

He crouched as low as he could, between two racks of valuable gold, bills, boxes of gems, and coins, all of varying kinds.

The former executive’s eyes were surrounded with sweat, but he didn’t blink.

He feared that that was the one opening the thing, who- or whatever it was, needed, to get him.

He hugged himself, ready for an attack.

“AAAAAUUUGGGHHH!” he screamed, firing madly in the dark.

Every last gunshot resounded and echoed across the expansive chamber. The sound was dulled by the racks of money and contents of the room.

Silence followed.

He fired off three more rounds blindly, trying to illuminate his stalker, before both handguns began to click.

Jordan’s face paled.

He heard rustling close by.

That time, he saw it.

“NO! God! Stay away from me! Oh God-“

Before he knew it, he was yanked up by his collar, giving him a severe case of whiplash. He screamed as he was rocketed out of the vault by some unknown assailant.

His twin pistols slid away and towards the shattered window.

“MOVE!” he heard someone in the darkness shout.

The sound of thundering boots and roaring men surrounded him almost immediately.

His life . . .

. . . was over.

“Don’t move dirt bag!” the second-in-command ordered forcefully, holding the muzzle of his weapon towards the former executive’s head.

“Sarge! He’s not breathin’! Chase isn’t breathin’!”

At least half of the force surrounded the former platoon leader, now sprawled lifelessly on the floor, trying everything humanly possible to bring him back to life.

The other half looked around for the mysterious benefactor.

More specifically, inside the vault. Nothing but shadows stared back at them.

None of them heard the dragon-boy take his customized exit.

TTT

The lieutenant of the police force was frantically barking orders over the intercom to his men.

Officers were rushing every which way in attempt to form a concrete barricade. Others rushed up to stone pillars on the platform to take up surprise positions for the next thing that came out of the bank.

“Set up those blockades men! Move it! Move it! Move it!”

“Aye sir!”

“Graze, put out a memo! No one talks to the press on this matter!”

“Sir!”

“Someone call the commissioner and tell him I want more men down here pronto!”

“10-4!”

He yanked open the cruiser’s door, knelt over, grabbed his pistol from the door sleeve, and holstered it in a quick, expert movement.

He stopped for a moment, and then yelled over at his right-hand.

“. . . And get me some coffee, dammit all!” the lieutenant concluded.

“Right away sir!”

The lieutenant sighed, adjusted his collar, and stepped forward through the throng of men and metal.

He yanked the loudspeaker out of his advisor’s hands.

“What word do we have?”

“Sir, the gunshots have stopped, but no one’s reporting in at the moment.”

“And Chase?”

“W-we’re not sure yet, sir.”

“Dammit!” He slammed his hairy knuckles on the hood of a cruiser, leaving a tiny impression in it. “He better be alive . . .” The lead officer bit his thumb and watched the entrance.

He waited . . .

Waited . . .

Waited . . .

“I see somebody!”

The head honcho looked up towards the entrance where his second was urgently pointing his sidearm.

He squinted.

Indeed, a humanoid form appeared within the shadows of the darkened bank.

Not the suspect.

“Hold your fire!” the lieutenant shouted, holding an arm up.

No one moved their weapons, but did as they were told. No one fired a single round at the shadow, but everyone followed the figure with their arms.

The lieutenant sighed and rubbed his grey hair back. “This one’s on our side boys.”

The half-dragon that he had held conversation with only a few minutes earlier appeared at the former glass windows. He dropped from them majestically, and slipped out, parachuting down the air currents with his wings flared.

He had a look of urgency on his face, however.

Patterson stepped over the temporary barriers and forward, other officers taking stride after him. While they rushed forward and into the bank, past the red-haired teen, the policeman in charge of the whole thing stepped up to the worthwhile acquaintance.

“I assume you’ve taken care of everything there is to be taken care of?”

“If you mean, ‘Is the danger over?’ and ‘May I shower you with praise now?’ then yes. Everything is fine.”

The lieutenant smiled and held his hand out for the young hero to shake.

Dragonscar stared for awhile, then finally took it.

“Can I get a blanket over here?!” the coated officer shouted to his boys in blue. He turned back to the half-dragon. “You did good kid. You gone and did real good.”

“Not as ‘good’ as I would have hoped,” he mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“I said I didn’t do as well as I would have liked to.”

“Why? What happened?”

“You’ll find out in a few seconds.” He turned back to the bank’s open doors.

The lieutenant looked where he did, gazing over the shorter man’s shoulder. “So I ain’t gonna get a straight answer until I see it for my-“

He stopped abruptly.

“Oh Jesus of Nazareth,” he breathed, walking past his new ‘friend’ and up the steps. “Oh God, Chase!”

His squad mates were disoriented wrecks, all comforting one another, or wandering off by themselves to try and regain their composure. Seeing their lead man gunned down had rattled them all.

“Get me a medic here!”

Time seemed to become a slow blur of motions to the half-dragon as he gazed on. Voices became slurred and muffled, intangible.

He sighed and looked up and around.

He saw nothing. His fears were unfounded. There was nothing to worry about.

Nonetheless, a sharp chill drove ice into his veins, causing him to hug himself and turn away.

That chill alone sent him walking. He fled along the sidewalk at a brisk pace, shuddering again.

He was watching.

The dragon-boy flowed from a fast walk into a hasty sprint, leaving the crime scene and the unsafe police force far behind him.

[Pun-3x]

Okay, finally read through everything here.

First, I'll say that you're good with details. One can really picture what's going on with in each scene rather well.

Dragonscar is an interesting character so far. It'll be interesting to see as his character gets developed throughout the story. I have a guess at who "Red Man" might be, but I have feeling that'd be too easy.

I'm figuring the whole plot with the bank robbery was simply something to show a side of Dragonscar we need to see--that he does care about other people's safety. Even though we know he's tortured, we know what side he's on.

One thing I would say--these chapters might feel a little TOO detailed. It will depend on how the rest of the story flows, but it sure takes quite a while to get through everything. At the same time, you don't want to rush things. I'll keep reading the chapters as they post--the lengths might feel more appropriate later.

Otherwise, this is intriguing. Looking forward to the next set of posts.

[Dragonscar]

<<Status: Hiatus>>

I've had a lot going on the last few days, so I won't be able to update quite as often. Sorry to anyone who bothers to read this crap.

:done:

[JAG]

This is great, so far. One of the best stories I've read on this site, actually. I can't really find anything to complain about. The Titans are in character, Dragonscar is interesting, the description of everything is perfect. Keep it up, and I'll definitely read more.

[Pun-3x]

Good luck getting things straightened out. Hope to see more as soon as you can post it. :)

[Dragonscar]

<<Status: Still Hiatus . . . just not as much>>


Chapter Two
From a Dragon’s Eye—Part Four

Cyborg cursed as the T-car crossed the wire bridge guarding the bay from the ocean. A lightning bolt struck dead on the water, less than a thousand yards out.

Even Raven, sitting next to him, nice and safe in the cool breeze under the A/C, flinched at the horrible roar that followed. Perhaps it was just the fact that it was loud, but Cyborg was hardly used to seeing Raven in a condition like she was in.

She looked fragile, sitting there, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

The small girl was staring out the opposite direction. If she knew Cyborg was watching her, she didn’t care.

Parked yonder was a large row of freighters, yachts, and other assorted sea vessels lined at the wharf and docks.

Cyborg ran a metal hand over the human side of his head silently, and turned the wheel back on course. The T-car’s nose had been drifting ever so slightly towards the edge of the crowded bridge.

I gotta stop doin’ that, he scolded himself in his mind.

Traffic at such an early hour was especially bad, and he had also been trailing a semi. The mist that traveled in its wake had left him forced to hold the wipers on high just to keep a moderately clear field of vision.

He flinched at the thought of his Baby’s top getting peeled off after getting shredded under the rear end of the trailer.

“So,” he made an attempt at conversation.

...

He stopped there, not knowing what to go on to.

Raven remained lost in her own little world, oblivious to anything that he had said. Or, perhaps she was just ignoring him.

He raised a finger on the wheel and opened his mouth dumbly.

“Mmm,” he finally settled on.

“You have an incredible knack for conversation,” Raven droned, pulling her robe over her bare legs with a shiver.

“Hey, you are alive,” he said sarcastically, putting a hand to his cheek. “Thought you died sometime between the Tonight Show and Today Show.”

“You’re funny,” she murmured without so much as a sneer.

Cyborg simpered, and was quiet for a brief moment.

“Trying to be a little more social with ya, girl,” he growled, leaning his face against the titanium wheel.

Raven sighed, possibly rolling her eyes. He couldn’t tell from where he was.

He looked up a few rows of cars to see the R-cycle, Robin straddling the seat, swerving in and out of cars, trying to gain some leeway for the T-car behind him. A flasher in the headlight guised his transportation mode as a police cycle.

Cyborg smiled widely, betraying a wicked snicker.

Raven either didn’t bother commenting, or didn’t hear over the rumble of the storm on the windshield and the pitter-patter of rain on the roof mixed with the wipers in high gear.

He allowed the chuckle to proceed to a full-fledged laugh, trying to zoom in on the Boy Wonder with his electronic eye. He didn’t know whether it was just to try and perk Raven’s attention, or if he was actually amused from the sight.

From where he was sitting, his commander was in a pretty foul mood, barking mouthy commands at everyone around him. He was trying to direct traffic and ride at the same time.

“Ah man,” the android Titan finally sighed, shaking his head, “Robin must be freezin’ his ass off. Him and his pansy little motorcycle.”

“He could probably say the same thing about you and your car,” the girl across from him said.

Cyborg winced and moaned.

“Man Rae, got yer claws out today, huh?”

She ignored that.

He continued, “Just trying to get you to come outta your shell a little bit, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to ‘come out of my shell’. I’m just fine ‘in my shell’.”

He wondered how to respond to something like that, running a metal finger over the tip of his jaw, wrapped around to the back of his neck.

He scratched dumbly for a moment.

A pause.

“So, uh,” he tried again, “have any dreams last night?”

Raven was silent.

Oddly silent.

“Nightmares?” He sucked on his lip for a moment, casting a glance at her.

More quiet.

“Er . . .”

He narrowed his eye, wondering if it was wise to ask.

A moment of peace.

“‘That time of month’?”

Raven glared sharply.

Cyborg snapped his eyes back to the front of the car. Lord knew the last thing he wanted to do was be caught staring at her. The punishment would possibly be even direr.

“I was just asking.”

“Mind your own business.”

“I’m only saying it was a little weird to have ya up at . . . what was, one o’clock in the morning?”

“I wanted a cup of tea.”

“Maybe it was two or three,” the mumbled to himself. He hadn’t taken notice of her demand, or her response for that matter. “It ain’t like you to be up that soon.”

“Keep your suspicions to yourself,” she shot back with a dagger on her tongue.

Cyborg licked his lips.

“Did I hit a nerve?” he questioned.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Nah! I’m only saying, it was nice to see you so early!” he quickly excused himself. “Maybe if the others were more like you, we could stay up and watch more late movies as a group . . . you, me, and BB?”

Raven had returned to staring at the mainland as they crossed over the halfway point of the bridge.

He wished that he could see her face, and his own said so.

He shifted his weight slightly, uncomfortably.

“Maybe a horror flick?”

Raven showed not the slightest bit of interest or aroused curiosity.

“What do you like to do in your spare time?” he pressed.

A few moments pause.

“Read.”

He shrugged and nodded. “Well . . . I meant . . . well, fair enough.”

. . .

A beat.

“Anything else?”

Raven was silent as the stars. The only sound that could be heard was the rain, thunder, and the occasional honk of busy traffic.

He let the question hang in the air for a few seconds.

After a moment, he opened his mouth to ask something else-

“Music,” she deadpanned.

Cyborg blinked, surprised she was still listening, but decided to follow up the question anyway. “What kinds?”

She returned to her sheltered silence for a moment. The eerie sound of the rain was all that entertained Cyborg’s ears.

“Goth,” she finally decided on answering.

Figures . . . he thought. The one kind of music I know nothin’ about.

“Aw yeah,” he attempted at sounding like he knew what she was talking about, “Goth. Yeah, I love that Goth music.”

Raven usually wouldn’t have said anything . . .

She couldn’t, however, deny Cyborg the pit he had dug himself. Besides that fact, it was just too much fun to watch him squirm. Even she liked to have her fun every now and then.

She smirked and turned slowly to meet his brown eye’s gaze as it scanned the gauntlet. It didn’t take a psychologist to see he was avoiding her.

“Really?” she interrogated, raising an eyebrow at him. “What’s your favorite Goth band?”

Cyborg lost a bead of sweat there.

He shuffled nervously in his seat, and pretended not to hear.

Raven rolled her eyes and smiled slightly, leaning her chin on her arm, and staring up at the low cloud layer.

A bolt of lightning arched down and struck the bay waters, sending a spine-tingling crackle of angry noise echoing over the waves and upset waters, temporarily deafening her.

Her ears rang momentarily, when she realized that Cyborg had said something.

She looked up at him.

“Hm?” she questioned wordlessly.

He shrugged at her. “Nothing.”

I bet . . . she thought.

“Whatever,” she returned, turning back to the suddenly, very interesting water.

Cyborg considered saying it again, but then again, he was the driver. After a moment of thought, he reached the conclusion that that wouldn’t give him any protection.

He never listened to himself much, however, and his human impulse overrode his half-computer brain’s reasoning.

“I got you to talk,” he said simply.

She was certainly not surprised by his little crack at her silent treatment crumbling down around her. He found a perfect timing for such a thing every time. Even worse, in her mind, was the fact that she was tempted to respond, to shoot back a clever quip to match his and silence him for the rest of the trip. She was certainly quick enough.

However, the moment passed, morphed into a few seconds, and the opportunity was lost.

Raven settled on a meditation spell that she quietly ran through her head, and continued to stare at the unholy storm’s fury.

Things were silent for a few moments.

“Titans!” a voice crackled over the radio, the clatter of rain making it hardly distinguishable.

Cyborg swiveled a knob on the dashboard to try and clear the message. It came back again a few moments later, loud enough to make him flinch and turn the volume down.

Robin.

“Cyborg! Do you read me?”

The android Titan sighed inwardly, thankful for something to say. Moments ago, he had been trying desperately to get Raven to utter anything. Now he wanted to avoid her for some reason.

“Yeah Rob, I hear ya. What’s up?”

TTT

Beast Boy loved flying, even in weather like this.

The feel of wind through his feathers, the sensation of freedom, was unmatchable by anything a roller coaster or sick day could give.

It was odd, however.

Flying on an airplane, the T-ship, he felt trapped, restricted, tied down. It made him nervous and uncomfortable. Tense was a mild way of putting it.

He was an animal at heart, and longed to travel under his own power.

Now, traveling through grey, unclear skies—difficult as it was to remain airborne—he could safely say he felt happy.

Each flap of his mighty eagle wings fought the wind as it tossed his small, frail form about the clouds, watching lightning strike the earth below.

It was the life.

Lightning looked really cool when observing it from above the ground. It looked almost like it happened in slow motion from such a perspective, when really, his eyes were just more sensitive to it, and retained the image a bit longer.

His ‘arms’ grew tired as he fought the turbulent air, but this was just another aspect about flying he enjoyed so much.

There was nothing like flying in the middle of a storm.

He felt more alive than he had felt in quite awhile, and was content as he hovered on the occasional updraft, escorting Starfire as she flew alongside him.

He wished he could talk to her, and tell her what it felt like. It was poetry that couldn’t even be put into words.

If he could have smiled, he would have.

Unfortunately, it didn’t look like the Tamaranian was in the mood to smile. Her long, red hair was matted, unkempt, and all over the place as the wind tore at her.

He was aerodynamic. She wasn’t.

“Ugh,” she shivered, throwing her arms around herself as they slowly advanced over the water, pacing themselves so that they would arrive at the scene at the same time as the others.

Beast Boy did his best to avert his eyes from her drenched form.

“Is Terran weather commonly this unpleasant?” she questioned the green-headed raptor next to her.

The changeling answered with a short caw.

Starfire continued: “It is never so . . . depressing on my world.”

Beast Boy ran over that in his head, thinking quietly to himself.

A snow-covered, relatively primitive-seeming world didn’t come onto him as a very ‘happy’ place. Constantly cold, and (from what he saw) constantly dark, the only lights being those in the royal palace, seemed more depressing to him than the occasional thundershower.

Maybe it was different for her.

Perhaps snow was a happy thing for the princess of another world and her people.

Unfortunately, it never snowed in California.

If his beak was capable of turning up into a smile, it would have. He missed snow. It had been quite awhile since he had last seen any. Since their excursion to Russia and the Siberian wilderness at least.

Starfire shivered noticeably again.

He couldn’t help but snort in a bit of laughter.

She loved snow, her people thrived in it even, and she couldn’t even take a little water.

A bolt of lightning struck and sent waves of rolling thunder across the Earth, making her jump, if that was possible.

“Ti- ZZT!!!” came from the alien princess’ belt.

She slowed to a halt in midair.

“Beast Boy? Did you speak something?”

The changeling stopped next to her, beating his wings furiously to maintain altitude. He switched into a hummingbird mode, and buzzed near her ear.

She blinked twice, and then looked down at her communicator.

“Cybor- ZZZT! Do you read me?”[i]

A beat.

[i]“Yeah Rob, I hear ya. What’s up?”

“Can you see a break in the traffic from back there? I’m totally blocked off!”

“That’s a big negative Robin. Nothin’ from back here.”

“Can I jump over to the other side of the highway and make the trip?”

“Dawg, there’s not enough space to squeeze a thought through here. Traffic’s piled up to Fifteenth Avenue!”

Starfire turned her eyes to the bridge.

Beast Boy spotted them first.

The R-cycle was a few rows ahead. Robin was standing balanced on the seat of it, trying to see over the sea of cars.

It was a sea of cars, trucks, and buses for as far as the eye could see, even from the changeling’s point of view.

Ugh, crud . . . he thought to himself.

He knew what this sort of thing meant. The flyers would go ahead and see to the situation while Cyborg and Robin tried to find a way through.

In other words, he would have to deal with Raven’s strict commands, and would be chewed out if he so much as goofed.

She digs me that way . . . he continued, grinning to himself, his processes wandering off to self-indulgence of the mind.

“Starfire . . .” her communicator rang, shaking free of the electrical interference caused by the tempest.

Beast Boy shook out of it.

He looked over Star’s shoulder to see who was demanding her attention.

“Robin?” she spoke, looking at the view screen. It was divided into two separate screens, one showing Robin, one Cyborg.

“Good, you can hear me . . .” he said. His voice was fuzzy, but understandable at least. “Starfire, I want you to take Beast Boy and Raven, and go ahead of us to the bank.”

Beast Boy sweatdropped.

“I want you three to do whatever the head of police want you to do. Whatever you do, be careful, and don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

Starfire looked like she had been dreading to hear that.

“But Robin,” she began to protest, her mouth fogging up the screen as she breathed on it, “What about-“

“We’ll follow as soon as we can. We’re kind of stuck at the moment. When you three get there, stay there and wait for us.”

He made a pause, waiting for her to nod in affirmation.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” a blue-hooded figure said, appearing on-screen.

The changeling had expected this.

“I don’t want to stand outside with . . . myself freezing to death.”

“I knew she wouldn’t wanna leave me!”

“I hope none of you will miss Cyborg.”

Beast Boy wished he could have laughed at Cyborg at that moment. Burn . . .

“Focus, everyone!” the lead Titan demanded. He obviously wasn’t a fan of the rain. Such was the attitude of the smaller birds.

“That cut deep Rae . . .”

“Cyborg! Enough! You can flirt later! Raven! That’s an order!”

A moment of pause.

Raven sighed and clicked her communicator off. Beast Boy could see her from where he was with his sharp eyes. His gaze fixated on her just for a moment before turning back to the communicator clutched in the Tamaranian’s hand.

“Cyborg, you and I’ll try to get through this. I’ll see if I can jump a car or two over to the other side.”

“Aw yeah, I’ll just sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you guys get ta dance under the frickin’ confetti.”

“I’ll try and part some traffic for you to get through. Just stay patient.”

The android Titan hissed in disgust, just as Raven flew up next to the alien, keeping her distance from both of her comrades.

“I don’t believe this . . .”

“Believe it Cyborg! Unless you want to sprout wings and fly to the bank! It’s only a few miles up the road. Keep quiet and get ready to move.”

Beast Boy loved watching Robin jump a car with his bike. It was like something out of an action movie or something. Something about it was just too cool . . .

“Wub you too, Wobby!”

“Ugh, unbelievable . . .” the Boy Wonder returned, landing in another sea of technology. He raised the wheel of the bike and jumped again.

That time, he landed in a more manageable throng, and navigated to the bridge’s opposite side.

Raven needed no more encouragement. “Let’s go,” she droned, disappearing into her soul self, and flapping mightily towards the cluster of brilliantly flaring lights.

Starfire and Beast Boy followed, not questioning her position.

The alien girl was first to speak. “When shall Robin and Cyborg be joining us?” she questioned the black bird.

She didn’t know whether it was merely not hearing that it didn’t answer, or it simply didn’t want to, the latter of which seemed the most likely.

The rest of the flight was overtaken by an uncomfortable silence . . .

TTT

His lungs were on the verge of collapse as he rounded the corner.

The rain-slicked tarmac blurred under his flurrying feet as he forced himself to keep going . . .

The streets of the urban work areas of Jump City were dead, especially on the rainy days like today. Not a functional, or drivable car in sight.

He looked up and around every second, to make sure he was still alone.

It was too dangerous not to be . . .

TTT

A . . . playground . . .

…

The small, red fire truck glided across the blacktop surface, scraping its small, plastic tires with every few feet it went.

He watched it, enthralled with every bump it made.

It rolled.

It rolled, and kept rolling.

It stopped when it hit the basketball goal’s pole.

It sat there.

The truck didn’t roll back to him.

...

...

...

Why couldn’t things just go back to where they were?

...

He pondered it like a philosopher.

...

He stared, willing for it to come back.

...

It refused his mental command.

Frustrated, he climbed to his feet, crossed the ground to where his toy lay.

He knelt down and sat next to it.

For some reason, he pushed it again, across the playground.

Once again, it didn’t return to him, so he was forced to get up, and wander over to its resting place.

…

He sat.

…

He pushed it again.

…

Again . . . it refused to return to him.

…

The boy’s shoulders slumped as he sat in depression. He leaned against the pole he had started at.

He sighed, bored to play with his ghost. It never really played back. Not like the other children, laughing, skipping around, making merry.

Happy.

He hugged his legs to his chest and rocked back and forth on his heels. The air above the pavement rippled in the heat, causing him to sweat. A few other kids nearby were hopping around playing basketball, others still playing kickball out in the baseball field.

Hopscotch here, jump rope there.

Some were playing tag in the long, uncut grass, weaving in and out of the jungle gym.

Did any of them ever offer to play with him though?

…

He continued to hold himself tightly, essentially becoming a human ball. His clothes ruffled in a comforting breeze, before that too refused to comfort him anymore.

Eyes shut, he locked himself into his imagination . . . his quiet, silent solitude, where no one could disturb him.

TTT

He was breathless now, his pupils now slatted like a lizard’s. He scanned the darkness around him, watching for it, for him.

The monster that just wouldn’t quit.

He found himself amongst a more developed section of the suburbs. It wasn’t abandoned like the rest of the outlying portions of town. Some of the old, desecrated buildings were actually being torn down to be rebuilt.

He could tell it was being worked on also by the sight and sound of a monorail train roaring overhead, navigating the spaces between the short and tall buildings. It glided gracefully along the single track, back towards the clearly defined skyline.

He shook his head, taking in quick gulps of air to relieve the burning inside his chest.

He ceased to take in the view, and considered if it was really wise to return to the city core, and put all of those people in danger.

Seeing no choice, he took a starting dash out into the middle of the street.

Then the sudden screeching of tires and the smell of burning rubber drew his attention.

A yellow cab, headlights nearly blinding him as their glare danced in the torrential rain, screeched to a halt, just as he barely leapt into the sky and up to safety.

The driver was a bit shaken at the fact that he nearly hit someone, but his passenger was outright petrified.

“The hell was that?!”

The driver blinked, watching the fading form.

“Looked like some sort of demon, in a jacket or somethin’.” He paused, and then glanced at the guy he was driving. “You’re going to the airport, right?”

TTT

The half-dragon boy clambered to the roof of the passing monorail train, having to press his fingers into the metal hull just to avoid being forced off by the howling tempest.

The rain shower had transformed into a torrent, and the sky had been virtually grayed out, blocking out the already non-existent sun rays, and casting the city into a mist-shrouded darkness. Small rivers formed in the streets, lights illuminated the skyline, and sirens resounded throughout the glass and metal canyon.

The suddenly red-haired teen that clambered to the train’s roof did his best to ignore the war zone passing below him.

The train slid slowly into a station, allowing him a brief moment to relax.

He shook himself as dry as he could. The few passengers passing out onto the tiled station platform could have mistaken it for rain.

The dragon-boy slid off of the grooved roof of the rail car, then to the ground opposite the train platform, where he took in a deep drag of ionized air. He coughed and glimpsed around him, watching the train pull away.

He leapt up to the rafters before his cover was blown, and crawled along the ceiling towards a darker corner just as the train screech noisily out of the station.

He found a secluded steel arch that supported the roof, then sat down again, crossing his arms over his knees.

Well, it’s warmer than the alley.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing.

He listened to his heartbeat, blocking out the chatter of frantic people, and just focusing on peace.

“Comfortable?”

The half-dragon’s eyes flared wide and red in the shock of a voice suddenly appearing behind him.

“You didn’t really think could get away from me that easily, did you?”

Eyes narrowed . . .

“How?” he began. “How did you find me so fast?”

The ‘Red Man’ shifted calmly behind him.

“It wasn’t that hard. You speak like it was going to be a challenge.”

The younger of the two conversing clenched his eyes shut tightly, gritting his teeth to the point that they threatened to break. His heart was in his throat, and made it hard to swallow.

“Honestly, foiling a bank robbery? How simple do you have to make it for me?”

The dragon boy shivered. His words were like ice.

“You cannot run far enough, or fast enough to escape me. It’s clear that you’re tiring.”

“You won’t find me that easy to catch.”

An amused snuff.

“I’ve already caught you.”

“I won’t let you have me. You won’t . . .”

“Still defiant as ever, aren’t you?” Crimson was sure to remain in the shadows. “I’ll chase and catch you again if you wish to continue to run.”

The younger of the two’s eyes shifted.

He bit his lip nervously.

He braced.

He could hear the sound of matter rearranging behind him. From crimson glove to blood-red blade, the transformation was instantaneous.

“And the cat has his sport.”

The half-dragon leapt, shoving off from the steel crossbeam with a super-powered kick, and stretched outward, claws ready.

The sound of his nails tearing and dragging through metal, not to mention the train below him screeching along the rails was nearly deafening.

‘Red Man’ smiled and watched as the train sped through the station without stopping. He saw it. The look of fear on his prey’s face. The confusion in the terminal.

People looked around in annoyance, trying to see what had caused such a noise.

They weren’t worth his time. Not now.

Faster than the eye could follow, the red tuxedo melded against his flesh, bonding with his molecules. He melted into a puddle of red paint, which blurred out after the train.

The chase was on.

TTT

The half-dragon stretched his arm weakly outward, reaching for anything that would allow him to grasp the cleavages of the train’s roof.

He grabbed on and pulled, wincing.

Pain surged through his limbs as he slid up onto the roof.

He jabbed his fingers into the steel, holding on for dear life. The slightest shake would jar him off.

He lay prone, trying to meet the least amount of air resistance.

That, combined with the fact his claws had somehow remained lodged in the roof, he remained firmly rooted, despite his feet slipping side to side.

He made an attempt to look up, see where he was destined.

The city was covered in a blanket of thick clouds before him. The top of the skyline was cut off, the roofs of the buildings disappearing into the low-lying shroud, like into the mouth of a demon.

Rain clattered along the steel, pounding at it like millions of tiny fists. The tears of angels soaked the escapee to the bone, sending him into a fit of shivers that made him look like he was riding a jackhammer. His skin was as pale as a sheet, and his eyes flickered between red and brown like a light that couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to burn out.

He found it in himself to reach back behind his head and pull a hood out from the fold of his jacket. In his panic, he had forgotten that it existed. Though it would have served him better before he had gotten wet, it was a pleasant afterthought.

After a few moments of rest, he found it in himself to rise to his feet on the moving train. His eyes shifted to the skies in the terminal’s direction. He swallowed hard and hugged himself.

At the sudden clang of what sounded like metal meeting metal, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

The dragon boy swiveled on his heel.

Sure enough, the ‘Red Man’ stood firmly rooted on the roof of the train before him, the same calm smile on his face. His eyes betrayed his lust for vengeance.

The half-dragon boy, meanwhile struggled intently to keep his footing as the train rounded a turn, heading towards the inner city.

“Hello again my boy. This is becoming repetitive.”

The dragon-boy clenched his teeth, in frustration, fear, lividness. His hands tightened into fists as he fell back a few steps.

“Stop calling me that!” he growled threateningly over the thunderstorm.

‘Red Man’ raised an eyebrow and smirked, rising to both feet and stalking hauntingly forward.

The dragon boy hastened his pace backwards, nearly falling in the space between the two cars.

He regained his footing quickly and turned to run-

-only to find he had nowhere to go. He faced the very end of the train, with nothing but wind to catch him.

He cursed silently to himself and turned to face his stalker.

“You’ve known it since the day I created you.”

“Stop it!”

The half-dragon teetered on the back edge of the train.

“I created you for a greater purpose. I chose you to foresee the survival of your brothers and sisters-“

“Shut up!” he roared. His hands were wound so tight they threatened to draw blood.

“-I gave you a place in my new world.”

He was just feet away now. The red-eyed psychopath stopped.

Dragonscar dropped his arms from their guarding stance. He didn’t let down his focus though.

His vision began to blur again.

Black, purple spots and patches began to appear on his flesh. His skin was dying from the frigid temperatures.

The ‘Red Man’ would just have to stand there to kill him, eat away at his time until he lost consciousness and fell.

No . . . despite his atrocious habits of killing in a bloodthirsty manner, the ‘Red Man’ seemed to have a morbid sense of honor, however limited, and he would force the half-dragon into one last fight before the weather did him in.

The air grew colder. He could see his breath blow right back into his face.

“You’re not going to just let yourself perish like this, are you?”

“. . .”

“You are a waste,” ‘Red Man’ spat in disgust.

“Why did you do it?”

“‘Why’? That could mean so many different things.”

“Why did you take away my life?”

The towering red man raised an eyebrow.

“I was normal before you came along! I had a memory! I had a life, but I can’t remember any of it! Why did you have to pick me?!”

‘Red Man’ shook his head, almost pityingly. “My boy, you would have been assimilated eventually anyway. Why are you talking like you could have avoided your fate?”

“. . .”

“It was inevitable. You should thank me for my gift to you, not curse me.”

Fiery eyes flared.

“You didn’t do this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Boy, you are dead only because of your own, selfish choice.”

“Dead?” he coughed, his lungs beginning to collapse in on themselves. They crackled dryly like paper sacks with every word he spoke, “My heart is still beating you monster.”

‘Red Man’ took a long, quiet pause, staring at his creation of old, almost empathetic of what he had been forced to do.

“I didn’t intend for this to be . . . bloody,” the long-haired predator emphasized, the right arm of his tuxedo and glove sliding into a new shape.

The half-dragon braced as the blade formed.

[JAG]

Aside from the sick, twisted cliffhanger, that was a good chapter. I like that you had the Titans get stuck in traffic. That's the kind of thing the show never does. The civilians rarely get in the way or anything.

The villain is certainly interesting. A shapeshifter, huh? Cool. How is Dragonscar going to get out of this one?