Black Dawn (Teen Titans; C)

[Oh look I'm...]

Well then, my friends, time for one of my own contributions to haunt the fanfiction archive.;) I've long been a supporter and, as I used to recall, addict of Teen Titans, so me and my work here may or may not be a good thing. At this point in time, I'm not sure where exactly I want the story to go, though I have some idea. However, any furthering of this little narrative will entirely depend on each and every piece of feedback and review, mainly because I'm not really confident about pursuing this. Simply put, I don't particularly want to invest into a project that's crap from the get go.

With that said, please don't expect much from the piece below. To be perfectly honest, I'm merely trying something out, and I'm not even sure I got it down at all, but I'll leave that judgment up to you. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you will in time (I hope :sweat: ). Oh, and I apologize for the length right up front.

Also, it's probably not a fair assessment to call the events in this story a "sequel" to the Teen Titans episode of "Go!" by any means, but they definitely occur soon after the episode, though I'm not sure how long. The characters might appear strained because of their lack of substantially established origins, which is mainly the fault of the show's writers who created "Go!", but I might toy with the ideas a bit myself. Again, it all depends on what you have to say, if anything, so don't be afraid to comment.

Anyhooz, I won't bore you with preliminary details any longer. Now, onto what I consider to be an attempt at something quite different than I'd ever done before...:D

Black Dawn
Takes place shortly after the events of "Go!"
12:00 AM

The day had begun. She always thought, growing up, that those words were usually of frightening implication. It was what made her habitually check her clock every time midnight rolled around, the time that made her awaken with shivering fear. However, the reasons for that fear differed from night to night and, fortunately, tonight was not one that made her regret being born.

Raven, as she’d been called since as long as she could remember, stood in front of Saint Andrew’s Cathedral. She was a young woman—probably around her early to mid teens, in terms of age—with pale gray skin and neck-length, navy blue hair that was in something of a “feathered” cut. Her apparel of clothing was that of a blue cloak and hood, which concealed the majority of her body, though probably not the best thermal choice for her bare legs and a tight, dark, ornamented leotard. It was ornamented, per se, with a belt of yellow circles set each with a red gem, probably a style of her people.

As if in keeping with this style of these gems, two similar ones rested on the back of her hands because the leotard extended down to the wrists as well. She brought her hand to her heart, touching the single yellow-circled red gem, the link that kept her cloak fastened around her shoulders. Then Raven realized that she’d been daydreaming of her past life for long enough, took a deep breath, and approached the door of the cathedral.

Though she never thought much of it, the cathedral—like a few others she’d been near—emitted some sense of welcome from it. For all intents and purposes, Raven didn’t consider herself a “God person” and it would definitely take more than a passing feeling of welcome from the city church to make her feel truly warm again. Besides, she wasn’t here for God. Furrowing her eyebrows with determination and resolve, Raven placed her hand on the door and firmly pressed to open it.

Even though Raven knew there wasn’t anything to be frightened of when entering a religious site such as Saint Andrew’s, she still felt uneasy about the silence and quiet of the faintly lit atmosphere that made it carry, for lack of a better term, unnatural ambiance. Still, Raven reminded herself that fear was a useless emotion and she would have to suppress it again to prevent herself from losing control.

Almost apathetically, then, she stepped into the dim light refracted from the ornate stain glass windows. Glancing around the cathedral’s inner oratory, consisting of a number of pews and an altar at the head of them, Raven hoped to spot who she’d been looking for, but she didn’t. The place appeared to be deathly empty and reclusive, especially at midnight. She thought it best not to call out and break the silence.

The only sound in the room was a mildly icy breeze’s whisper, making Raven put up her hood and, at the same time, regret the choice of bare legs. In any case, she listened for something deeper, and her eyes darted around the room, but it was difficult to see anything explicit besides the lit statues of religious figures. The only source of such light was a litter of small, round candles, with their dancing flicker flames. For a moment, Raven wanted to sit in one of the pews: perhaps what she was looking for would surface if she was able to rest and focus her thoughts.

However, that feeling of uneasiness was still with her, but simply standing there for what felt like hours wasn’t going to progress anything, and Raven knew it. Then, finally, after all the time she’d been there, something caught her eye, something that was most definitely not part of cathedral’s design or such. It was a man, hunched over in one of the side pews. And so, Raven took one step forward, narrowing her eyes, pondering the figure.

“Mr. Gunderson?” she called out at last.

The man didn’t answer. Raven was unsure about approaching him, but the silence make her just uncomfortable enough to do it. Coming upon the sullen figure, Raven gasped briskly upon seeing that he was, in fact, dead. She was sure that he was the Mr. Gunderson that she’d been seeking, though he looked as if something had silently attacked him.

Gunderson’s corpse appeared as if, within minutes, he’d lost all his hair, evidenced by the chunks and strands that lay scattered about his feet. His jaw also lay open, his head droopy as it sagged after being touched by Raven to see if he was conscious. Raven also found it perturbing that his eyes were blankly white and pupil-less, like he was devoid of a soul.

Then, as if the environment wasn’t chilling enough, Raven sensed another presence in the room. Just being aware of something so malevolent made the back of Raven’s neck twinge, and that feeling traveled down her back, though she dare not turn around yet. The smell of smoke was quite potent in the air, and its sheer pungency was enough to make even the most intrepid individuals quell and reconsider a confrontation of sorts.

Whatever was behind Raven uttered a barely audible hiss, and she acknowledged with a quick turn of her head, a reflex, because Raven was somewhat startled by the unearthly sound of that hiss. Finally, Raven turned her head enough so that, out of the extreme corner of her eye, she could get a decent look at it. The appearance of this entity could be described, in Raven’s terms or otherwise, as a tall humanoid figure, shrouded in a black cloak, under which no face could be seen. However, burnt and scabbed hands, the only parts of its body explicitly visible, protruded out of the sleeves. Though she’d read about it in several of her paranormal books, Raven had never seen such a creature in person. Of all the names coined for the entity standing before her, Raven thought to call it simply a “wraith.”

In the next instant, the wraith slowly extended its mauled hand toward Raven’s face. Immediately, she grimaced in a panic and jumped back far enough out of the creature’s reach. The wraith showed absolutely no sign of emotion in response, and Raven didn’t really know what was going on, but she mustered up what little courage she had and posed a question.

“What did you do to Mark Gunderson?” Raven finished and glanced back at the corpse of the man with the slacked jaw. Again, the wraith made no reply. Raven’s flesh began to crawl.

Smoke began to emit from under the wraith’s feet, as well as out of its “mouth” and the cloak’s sleeves. Something told Raven that it was departing, but she wasn’t going to let that happen. Gritting her teeth in frustration, Raven focused and pointed her hand at the wraith. Almost as if Raven commanded it, a strange black flame enveloped the wraith, probably as a means of restraining Raven’s opponent.

However, Raven’s “power” seemed to utterly have no effect—or, at least, very little—because the wraith literally stepped out of the flame’s embrace. The blue-hooded girl stood aghast, as if that was the absolute first time in her life that such an attack had failed. Then, as though to counter with an attack of its own, the wraith outstretched its left hand, which was burnt, black, and scarred. Small streams of smoke eerily gushed out of the hand’s open wounds and wrapped themselves around Raven’s torso.

Suddenly, she was seized by an unbearably bitter sensation of cold, clenching her chest like she hadn’t felt something so painfully gripping like that in years. Almost indifferently, the wraith turned to the door and started walking away, making a mild hiss with each step. Raven, meanwhile, struggled to fight the cold and turned over, falling to her knees.

With the strength to only keep one eye open, she watched as the wraith exited, leaving wisps of smoke behind to linger for a moment before dissipating. Raven knew she couldn’t let it get away, so she forced herself to her feet, shaking off the cold as best she could. She reminded herself that she was always cold, so a sudden arrest of rime shouldn’t be anything to fret about. Raven knew that the window of opportunity was closing fast as she watched the doors slowly close. Sprinting at the exit, she soon burst through the church’s doors and out into the nightly urban setting.

A tiny puff of smoke was visible to her left, and Raven figured that the wraith was heading down an alleyway. Besides, she thought, it couldn’t have gotten far. She was, after all, preoccupied with the onslaught of cold for only a minute or two. Raven had to focus again, and focus she did. Gradually, Raven began to levitate a few feet off the ground. Then, looking ahead, balled her hands into fists and thrust her body forward, flying swiftly.

The wraith felt the presence of another individual approaching but, when it turned around, was instead met with Raven’s elbow, which plunged directly into its head. Such an attack shoved the wraith head-first through the wall of a nearby abandoned warehouse, although the wraith didn’t make a single sound (not even a hiss) when struck by such a blow and suffering the aftermath of it. Raven, hovering in midair, withdrew her extended elbow back to her side and descended her body to the ground, hurrying in to the warehouse through the side door.

She was surprised to see the entire interior concealed in smoke, no doubt produced by the wraith that entered here a moment ago. Nevertheless, Raven wasn’t going to be deterred. She took small steps inward, being careful not to stumble over any thing and still keep her guard up, should the wraith startle her again. After a minute, Raven realized that she wasn’t going to see at all in this fog. Raising her hands above her head, Raven shouted, “Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos!” and brought them down promptly. A tornado of the same black flame she cast earlier surrounded Raven and expanded to a radius that fit the entire room’s atmosphere. The smoke was soon dispersed.

Raven looked up to see the wraith, hovering a few feet above her. She suddenly felt paralyzed with fear as the faceless entity stared her down from above. The wraith dove at Raven, but she reacted in time. Raven would’ve been in serious trouble had she not hastily levitated herself to the left, just out of range of the wraith’s fearsome slash as it struck the ground. Unfortunately, Raven wasn’t quick enough to avoid the wraith’s next abrupt move: its hand snagged hold of her throat.

As the wraith began to squeeze, Raven started to gag uncontrollably. She knew that her powers were the best way out of this situation, but for some reason, she couldn’t focus. Pain from the wraith was surging into her body, gripping her with the same cold she’d felt previously. Raven’s eyes searched around the room for something she could use, something that she could possibly throw at the wraith telekinetically, from afar.

Things started to go black in Raven’s eyes. She found it increasingly more difficult to stay awake, let alone breathe. Then, in an abrupt motion, the wraith turned and hurled Raven across the room. She flew limply through the air before skidding roughly off the ground, until her form finally stopped at the wall. Raven rubbed her head—an old method taught by her guardians to make the pain go away where it hurt—and then got on all fours, weakly crawling away. It was now her intention to fight this wraith another day, but Raven forgot to consider the wraith’s own intentions.

Though Raven had found some sort of cover behind a rusty bookshelf, the wraith decided to continue the assault, or at least finish it. The wraith laboriously lifted its right hand and pointed at the bookshelf. Tiny wisps of smoke streamed out the gashes and cuts on the wraith’s hand, like before, and trailed over to the bottom of the bookcase. As though the smoke itself had strength and force of its own, it began to push the bookshelf over. Raven turned her head when she sniffed the foul smell of smoke and heard the faint creaks of the bookshelf tipping.

Looking upwards, Raven screamed as she saw the bookcase fall on top of her.

Elsewhere, two teenagers sat comfortably on the edge of a rooftop, watching the stars twinkle in the peace of the moment. One was a Caucasian, dark-haired boy—wearing a mask over his eyes and a short black cape, along with a red top (an “R” on his right breast) and green pants—and the other was a young woman. The color of her skin was, for lack of a better term, foreign: it was orange. She ran a hand through her long cherry-red hair and batted her bright green eyes at the boy.

Her appearance, however, was considerably different from the boy’s. She wore a tight top that revealed her arms and midriff, along with a miniskirt and high leg boots, all of which followed the color scheme of purple and silver, with the former as the primary and the latter as the secondary.

“I did not know that the atmosphere of your planet was so beautiful, Robin,” she said kindly, “It looks so different from my home planet of Tamaran.”

Robin smiled in response, “You’d be surprised about all the cool things there are to see on Earth, Starfire. I’m glad you decided to stay.”

Starfire had the look of a girl who was supremely comfortable—like a homesick child who, while at first dreaded the idea of moving, was now totally in love with her new home—as she rested her head on Robin’s shoulder. Though she wished him to respond to her advances, Starfire knew very well by now that Robin wasn’t going to do anything, whether it was the custom of this planet to not react or perhaps he simply didn’t want to, so she’d have to prevent the possibility of the “awkward silence” by continuing with a reply.

“I would not have, had you not been so welcoming. You are truly a rare creature in the universe.”

As Starfire lifted her head off Robin’s shoulder, he looked at her and smiled again. Starfire blushed and faintly closed her eyes, fading blissfully as she slowly felt herself falling into Robin. Their heads moved in closer, but something interrupted the moment—a single sound, a beep. Robin pulled away and reached into his belt for the source of the sound, producing a small, round communicator that began beeping incessantly. Robin cleared his throat stood up on the rooftop, looking back at Starfire.

“Someone’s in trouble,” he said grimly. After a moment, she nodded reluctantly in response and stood up with him, looking terribly disappointed. Robin opened his mouth to say something to her, but then Starfire took his hand and instead took off in flight, soaring into the night sky, holding him tightly. The two flew together over the city.

Within minutes, they got close to the signal. Robin and Starfire passed by the Saint Andrew’s Cathedral, seeing tons of smoke seeped out of its windows and entrance. However, what was odd was that there were clearly no signs of a fire. The two teenagers continued on as Robin said, “Come on, the distress beacon’s coming from somewhere ahead.”

Amid strong visual clues, the two easily deduced that the signal was coming from a smoke-riddled warehouse. As they quickly descended, Starfire finally dropped Robin when he was only a few feet above the ground. He landed gracefully and dashed through the open side door with Starfire close behind. Pulling a flashlight out of one of the compartments in his belt, Robin used it to peer through the thick fog that covered the room.

Starfire looked all around the room as best she could, and then she saw something rather unusual, especially for this planet. She gasped upon realizing what it was, and Robin whipped around and joined her at her side, shining the light on what she was gazing upon. There, in front of the both of them, was a fallen rusty bookshelf, and the only thing that was exposed from under it was Raven’s hand, holding a beeping communicator in her palm.

12:34 AM

[Matt A]

(Reviewer's Note: just for the record, I spent most of this afternoon in a lecture on Franz Kafka's The Trial. So if what I say here is strange, convoluted or pretentious, or even all three, then that's because three hours of discussing/analysing Kafka tends to warp your brain. Not necessarily in a bad way, though.)

I know for a fact that this is by no means your first Teen Titans story. So, whilst it would be tempting to view your first World's Finest work in a newbie-ish light, as the produce of a first-timer experimenting with a few ideas, such a viewpoint would be completely untrue. The upshot is that I shall skip any further comments on this subject, and go straight for the analysis.

Firstly, you said this shouldn't be viewed as a sequal to "Go!". But, to my mind, a sequal is precisely what it is: the plot and tone, from the looks of things, are vastly different, but nonetheless, this continues the core theme set up in that episoide. In other words, "Go!" established how the five Titans first met, whilst "Black Dawn" establishs how these five Titans went on to form their eponymous crime-fighting organisation (what 99% of us wanted "Go!" to depict in the first place): so perhaps not a sequal in the strictest sense, but because it's a continuation rather than a completely seperate entity, there isn't another category you can firmly lodge it into.

Of course, "Black Dawn" could well turn out to be something totally differeny, in which case the above paragraph won't apply. Nevertheless, seeing as you yourself have confessed that you don't really know where this story is going, I think my view still has some validity here.

(I'm not sure how much this has to do with anything, but like I said in the Note, I'm in a strange mood. If you've ever heard of the term "midrash", then you'll know why I'm being so anal; if you haven't, then the term "anal" will suffice anyways.)

Anyway, onto the other thing. For someone who claims not to know where this story is going, this opening chapter sure had a firm sense of purpose. This isn't just you toying with an idea: this is you creating a solid hook, a large number of questions and mysteries to draw us in right from the very start. Who was Mr Gunderson? Why did Raven want to see him? Why did the "wraith" kill him? Was the murder of its own inspiration, or an order from higher-ups? If the latter, then who are these higher-ups? If either, then what's the grand plan here? What exactly is this "wraith", anyway? And perhaps most interestingly, why did a being that couldn't really be beaten, and so could not have viewed Raven as much of a threat, sick around to fight a running battle with her? Was this part of the grand plan as well? Such a dizzying variety of questions - and I can think of one or two more, though I'll spare you for now - kinda speaks for itself, I think. But in case you feel it doesn't, I'll say this bluntly: even if you don't provide any answers, and answers aren't always desired, you'll still need to drop a few hints.

But content is only half of a story (excuse the horrific pun), and so here we must discuss the style. I don't usually give much thought to presentation, description, grammar and stuff - Cipher would probably say otherwise, but never mind - but when the form of a story is particularly notable, it still always gives me a bit of a happy. In particular, the many descriptions and musings here were highly evocative, giving me a clear picture of what was intended, not to mention lots of additional ideas to think about. For example, if I was to have a genuinely "midrashic" approach to this review, then I would be required to expend a few thousand words on the opening paragraph alone...and I reckon I probably could. We've all seen "Birthmark"/"The Prophecy"/"The End", so I don't think Ineed to say here what kinds of things I could bring up, but it's still immensely impressive that there is such a large amount to be read into what you've written.

That, in a fairly lengthy and contrived way, is my thoughts on this opening chapter. I sincerely hope you continue with this story, because if you do, there is such a vast amount to be explored and achieved. Even if you, the author, do not feel that way, I, the reader, do, and I for one think that counts for something. Simply put, I'm really rather impressed.

-Matt A-

PS: I said I was in a weird mood, no? But don't worry, I won't be analysing Kafka again for a while, so you won't be inflicted with this kind of "critcism" again.

[Atoragon]

Note: If I seem a little tense, its because my sister has done a real good job of getting on my nerves and I am damn near attacking her.

I don't know really what much to say. Reviews are not really my forte. Ask my English teacher, he can confirm this. I had problems writing a one paragraph review of a poem that I had to preview. Why in hell does this rhyme?!

Now that I'm done yelling at myself...

I thought it was really good all around. Descriptions are clear. The fight scene was impeccably done. When I read it, I could feel what Rae felt, see what she saw.

This is seem as more of a nuisance, but I always find something I don't like in a story (even ACZ). For this story (and many others), it was that the writer states that Raven never saw herself as a "God person" or religious, yet she always ends up walking into some big ole, fancy-ass cathedral.

Nuisance aside, a very interesting story. I think you're the first writer that I've seen on this site that states the time period as you did. It really gives me a feeling of how long all this should take, compared to how long I envision this taking.

Firstly, you said this shouldn't be viewed as a sequal to "Go!". But, to my mind, a sequal is precisely what it is: the plot and tone, from the looks of things, are vastly different, but nonetheless, this continues the core theme set up in that episoide. In other words, "Go!" established how the five Titans first met, whilst "Black Dawn" establishs how these five Titans went on to form their eponymous crime-fighting organisation (what 99% of us wanted "Go!" to depict in the first place): so perhaps not a sequal in the strictest sense, but because it's a continuation rather than a completely seperate entity, there isn't another category you can firmly lodge it into.

I am going to agree with Matt on this point. I think that's it for me. I look forward to the rest of this story if you choose to continue it.

[Oh look I'm...]

Wow! Thanks for the replies, guys! I have to say I was a bit excited to see how long they were, so thanks again.;) (Reviewer's Note: just for the record, I spent most of this afternoon in a lecture on Franz Kafka's The Trial. So if what I say here is strange, convoluted or pretentious, or even all three, then that's because three hours of discussing/analysing Kafka tends to warp your brain. Not necessarily in a bad way, though.)Note: If I seem a little tense, its because my sister has done a real good job of getting on my nerves and I am damn near attacking her.I don't know really what much to say. Reviews are not really my forte. Ask my English teacher, he can confirm this. I had problems writing a one paragraph review of a poem that I had to preview. Why in hell does this rhyme?! No worries, guys. I wasn't taken aback by anything y'all had to say. I know how it is in school, as well, and that sometimes teachers, classes, and siblings can really upturn your life—or at least your thought process—if only for a few hours or so. ;) Considering what you said you were going through, I think you handled whatever needed to be handled quite well. So there's something for me to glad about, again.Firstly, you said this shouldn't be viewed as a sequal to "Go!". But, to my mind, a sequal is precisely what it is: the plot and tone, from the looks of things, are vastly different, but nonetheless, this continues the core theme set up in that episoide. In other words, "Go!" established how the five Titans first met, whilst "Black Dawn" establishs how these five Titans went on to form their eponymous crime-fighting organisation (what 99% of us wanted "Go!" to depict in the first place): so perhaps not a sequal in the strictest sense, but because it's a continuation rather than a completely seperate entity, there isn't another category you can firmly lodge it into.Yeah, you're right. The primary reason why I didn't want to label this as a sequel is because I really didn't want to be hindered or limited in my writing. Mainly, I wanted readers to approach this thinking that it occurred after the episode "Go!" rather than as being a diehard sequel to it. "Black Dawn" might actually turn out to be the latter, but I won't go saying anything on that yet, mostly because I truly can't, if you know what I mean. :sweat: Just know that I'd like to toy with the ideas a bit.

Either way, your view is totally valid, as always. There's a difference between having a valid view and being mistaken.;) :p For someone who claims not to know where this story is going, this opening chapter sure had a firm sense of purpose. This isn't just you toying with an idea: this is you creating a solid hook, a large number of questions and mysteries to draw us in right from the very start. Regardless if I know where this story is going, a solid hook is a necessity with any piece of literature. ;) The great thing about this opening chapter is that, on the off chance I decide to take the story in a completely different direction, I really don't have to change it. Granted, it's obviously not something that can stand on its own, and it's meant to draw some people in, but I figured there was actually no other way to start this day.

In particular, the many descriptions and musings here were highly evocative, giving me a clear picture of what was intended, not to mention lots of additional ideas to think about.I thought it was really good all around. Descriptions are clear. The fight scene was impeccably done. When I read it, I could feel what Rae felt, see what she saw.Why thank you.:D It's nice to see I didn't completely foul up with this opening chapter.:p In all seriousness now, I'm glad you liked that style, because I plan on using it throughout the majority of this day, if or whenever the opportunity presents itself, of course.This is seem as more of a nuisance, but I always find something I don't like in a story (even ACZ). For this story (and many others), it was that the writer states that Raven never saw herself as a "God person" or religious, yet she always ends up walking into some big ole, fancy-ass cathedral.To be honest, that was actually more of a subconscious decision on my part. It is my understanding that, due to everything Raven's been through from her childhood to adolescence, she'd be wary of thinking God is altogether benevolent, but I also believe that she later develops a connection to God as a means of finding comfort and strength to endure all the things that she's burdened with over the course of her natural life.

However, I won't go to any further into that because it's really more of a philosophical discussion, and I don't want any of my religious views to upset anybody here, so I'll just stick to the story, if that's okay.

I think you're the first writer that I've seen on this site that states the time period as you did. It really gives me a feeling of how long all this should take, compared to how long I envision this taking.

You'd be surprised how fast time flies in real life versus how long it takes you to read something. As such, I ask that y'all not look too much into the "real time mentionings", as they're only present throughout the day to act as if some character were to glance as his/her clock at a particular moment, such as the end of a scene. It's there simply to give an indication of what time it is.

Again, this is one of the tougher things I'll be dealing with (so, please, bear with me :sweat: ), and I didn't proclaim this story as being "in real time" for the sole reason of not being hindered or limited to writing it a certain way. Besides, as both of you noticed, I have characters muse a little, which I think might provide just the amount of leeway that I need to make this work. However, I've been known for being horribly wrong before.

So, thanks again for all your support! I'm working on Chapter 2... *continues to type frantically*

[Oh look I'm...]

And here it is. While some people aren't a big fan of exposition, there's quite a bit of it here in this chapter. I won't say much on that subject, but I will say that I, for one, found that it was the only effective way of getting certain points across in this chapter, and that there was probably no other way to do it. But, I'll let you decide that one for yourselves. :evil:

Oh, and on another note, this little snippet—the "Previously on Teen Titans" feature—exists for two reasons: 1) for people skimming this years from now (maybe, I guess) and wanting to get an idea of the story before possibly tackling it head on, and 2) for people who've taken a break from the story and are coming back to it. I mean, let's face it: it's not wholly fair that they have to read all those chapters again, right? Well, anyhooz, it's not something you certainly need to look at, but it's simply there in case you might've forgotten what happened. (Obviously, it's no substitute for the real thing, only as a rehash.)

With that said, I won't keep you held up any longer. Please enjoy!



Raven mysteriously enters the St. Andrew’s Cathedral, searching for a man by the name of Mark Gunderson. The area is bone-chillingly quiet, however, until Raven discovers Gunderson’s dead body and comes face to face with his supposed killer, which is only described as a wraith.
The wraith flees and eludes Raven through its main power of emitting smoke. But, once the wraith finally decides to engage Raven in battle (supposedly as a means of effectively escaping), it wounds her and leaves her unconscious in a warehouse under a bookshelf. Raven, fearing that she might be killed while unconscious, activates the distress beacon on the communicator given to her by Robin.
Meanwhile, Robin and Starfire are romantically gazing upon the night sky and the stars. However, the beep of the distress beacon interrupts their “moment” and Robin resolves to find out what’s the matter. Within minutes, he and Starfire quickly get to the place where the signal is originating from. They find the communicator in the hand of Raven, whose unconscious body is covered by a bookcase.
12:34 AM

The silence was broken by Starfire’s cry, “Raven!”

Immediately, she and Robin sprang into action, diving at the bookshelf and placing their hands along the edges. Starfire paused for a moment and glanced at Robin, who appeared to be both pensive and, in some strange way, bereaved. In that one moment, Starfire wondered if Robin had ever come across death before, especially of a loved one. However, though Robin’s expression didn’t change, his actions did: he shot a quick nod at Starfire, who instantly understood to use her alien strength and lift the bookshelf.

With a heave mightier than any Robin had seen for some time, Starfire hoisted up the large bookcase, allowing Robin ample time to scramble underneath and retrieve Raven’s limp, unconscious body. Securing Raven’s shoulders and legs, Robin hurried out from under the shelf and gently carried her away in his arms, and Starfire watched as he did so, setting down the shelf with an eager readiness, of sorts, to see her new friend well again. Starfire looked on with both curiosity and concern as Robin softly put his ear near Raven’s nose and paused for a few seconds.

Robin narrowed his eyes and whispered, “She’s still breathing.”

Starfire was still concerned, “But what could make her lose her state of consciousness?”

“I don’t know,” he answered matter-of-factly. Such a reply only confused and frustrated her further.

Ever since she’d first arrived on Earth, Starfire was confused by Robin. He was an utter mystery, especially in the way he carried himself among others. She knew by now that there was much about Robin’s life that he kept secret—where he came from, who his family was, what the color of his eyes were (Starfire secretly hoped that his eyes were green like hers, but she suspected she might never find out), and, most importantly, what he felt—but she also knew that Robin was never one to keep his kindness a secret. Throughout the vast majority of her life, Starfire had been taught that only a foolish warrior exhibited kindness to someone other than kin and that kindness, in and of itself, should be considered a weakness.

But Robin was different. What continued to confuse Starfire was that Robin somehow used his kindness as a strength, even as something of a motivation. Perhaps Robin was not so different, she thought, and perhaps all people of this strange and unfamiliar planet acted this way. If that were so, Starfire would also have to use kindness as a strength, as motivation for helping others, even when her own best interests were not to do so. Then, Robin did something that Starfire thought was quite strange indeed: he put both of his hands on Raven’s chest, overlapped them, and began pressing repeatedly. How, Starfire wondered, could such a method possibly be used to revive someone?

“Robin,” she asked, finally, “what are you doing?”

“I can’t hear a heartbeat, and she just stopped breathing. I’m trying to restore her pulse, if I can.”

“Perhaps I could—”

“No,” Robin shot back firmly, already knowing what she was going to say, “I don’t know what effect your alien strength would have during CPR. You might accidentally make her chest bones cave in.”

Though she had absolutely no idea what ‘CPR’ was, Starfire was terrified by Robin’s description of what could happen. She certainly didn’t want to cause her friend, Raven, to die while trying to save her as well. Robin looked up and saw the sadness on her face, and he thought it best to calm her feelings, “Don’t worry, Starfire, she’ll be okay.”

“You are certain?” she inquired softly.

A cough from Raven confirmed it. Robin removed his green-gloved hands from her chest and, standing up himself, helped Raven to her feet. Holding her chest and struggling to breathe, Raven looked at the both of them before coughing again. She glanced down at her body, and her unconcealed legs were covered with bruises. Even with such pale gray skin, wounds were visible, and Raven brought a hand up to her lower stomach. Bruises were in the concealed parts too. Robin made sure to hold her up by slinging one of her arms around his shoulder.

“Can you walk?” Robin asked. Raven looked at him and nodded; afterwards, she dropped her head a bit and exhaled deeply.

Robin continued with his inquiries, “What’s going on, Raven?”

At length, Raven answered, “I’m not quite sure, but there’s a man in the church across the street. He’s dead; I’m guessing that he was killed by the same person or thing that did this to me.” She gestured feebly to her bruises along the sides of her legs. Starfire shuddered at the thought of Raven’s pain.

“Who is ‘he’?”

“As far as I know,” Raven replied, breathing deeply once before continuing, “his name is Mark Gunderson. I was meditating not far from here when I heard his mind call out for help. I didn’t sense him feeling any pain at the time, but when I arrived at the church, he was dead or, at least, lifeless, like a shell. I think it had something to do with why I was here in the first place.”

“Here?” Robin asked, “You mean, in this city?”

Raven closed her eyes briefly and nodded again. “Over the past few days,” she explained, “I’ve been sensing some breaches between the psychic plane and the physical plane. Normally, it’s not worth considering, since telepaths receive and transport their knowledge through it every day. But this time was different: this time, something broke through, something bigger than simple knowledge, feelings, or communication. It felt like an entity, a being.”

She then looked at Starfire, almost as if expecting a response. However, the Tamaranian girl looked utterly bewildered by what Raven was saying, and so Raven decided to try to explain it better. After a long sigh, she said, “Look, there are several planes of existence. The one we’re literally standing in right now is called the physical plane, where matter of all forms can reside but some are more accepted than others. Then, there’s the psychic plane—uh, ‘psychic’ means ‘of the mind’ in English, Starfire—where thoughts and energy signals from the mind can be transmitted, but only by those actually capable of performing such a task.

“Now, the situation I’m in,” she went on, “only concerns those two, as far as I know, anyway. My telepathic powers are far more extensive than those of many telepaths, especially when I’m in mediation, and it was there that I sensed something leak through.” Raven could tell that Robin had a far easier time understanding what she was getting at, with Starfire only barely keeping up, and so Raven continued, directing her words more to Robin, “Usually, only thoughts can pass between planes, but whatever passed through a few days ago was something considerably heavier.”

At this, Robin posed a question, “If physical matter is limited to the physical plane, as I believe you said earlier, how could a being even exist in the psychic plane to begin with?”

“That’s the weird part. The psychic plane is pretty hard to understand completely, even for me, but I think I know how. I think that it was literally death—the concept of it, anyway—that passed through and caused the break between the psychic and physical planes. For telepaths and empaths, death is, to say the absolute least, a disturbing thought. Somehow, death must’ve materialized into physical form or something like that. I started to worry and decided to investigate. I followed the entity here, still not knowing entirely what it was.

“But something made me dismiss the investigation for a while. When it was obvious that the entity’s destination would be this city, I tracked it, and whatever broke through crashed into the center of one of the city streets. Needless to say, it’s pretty hard to see a thought in the physical plane, so I had to look for some thing out of place. It already seemed odd that the entity caused so much physical damage, and when I was close enough to actually get a decent look at what was causing all the destruction,” she paused, glancing at Starfire, “it turned out to be her.”

There was a moment of silence between the three of them. In any other situation, Starfire would’ve immediately believed that these people suspected her of wrongdoings and thus would’ve prepared for battle, but she was reminded that her friends were different. Neither Robin nor Raven made any move of attack. At most, Raven gave Starfire a sour look, like a cop who investigates a distress call only to find that two snot-nosed kids were playing with the neighbors’ phone. Besides, if Starfire were truly evil, Robin would’ve seen through it by now. It took a lot to fool him.

“Seeing Starfire,” said Raven, “I figured that it must’ve been either her or her pursuers that broke the link between the planes. Both carried the sense of death among them, but when help arrived and Starfire’s innocence was proven, I decided that I was either wrong or greatly misjudged the situation. Starfire was clearly not the incarnation of death, and while those lizard-like aliens did pose a great threat, the five of us dealt with them. When the crisis was averted, I opted to continue my telepathic investigation, just in case. Everything seemed fine, until tonight.”

“Raven, are you saying that death itself attacked you?” Starfire questioned worriedly, “How could you have survived such an ordeal?!”

“Like I said, the psychic plane and the things in it are beyond my understanding. I guess I considered that thing, that wraith, to be death because it carried the sense of death with it and exhibited it in others. I could be wrong, you know; it could just be some weirdo in a costume—imagine that. But at this point, we just don’t have enough information.”

“Raven’s right,” Robin asserted, “I don’t want to make any assumptions until we have all the facts. Now, do you have any idea where this ‘wraith’ could’ve gone?”

Under her blue hood, she shook her head in reply. Robin frowned briefly and then said, “Then we’ll have to find another lead. What exactly did you learn about the victim, Mark Gunderson, with your telepathy?”

Raven squinted for a moment, looking contemplative, “He was quite troubled about decisions he’d made in the past, as I recall. Also, I think I mentioned that he was a mind calling out for help, but some people just call that praying. I don’t know for sure: his thoughts were pretty jumbled. Maybe that wasn’t the first time he encountered the wraith.”

“We’ll have to look for a clue in the church, then,” Robin ordered, “come on.”

However, as soon as Raven took one step forward, she almost collapsed. Robin was jolted downwards and had to catch Raven and bring her back up again. Apparently, she couldn’t walk as well as she initially surmised, and the added physical strain was enough to make her concussion kick back in. Raven groaned loudly and rubbed her head.

“You’re in no condition to continue this investigation on foot,” muttered Robin. He turned to Starfire, “She needs to recuperate. There’s a local hospital not far from here. You have to get her there, Starfire.”

“What about you, Robin?”

“I’ll be okay. I’m thinking I might find a clue in that church.”

Starfire wanted to say something more, perhaps something that would give Robin her reassurances, but she couldn’t find the words. Instead, she looked at Robin with much compassion and then redirected her focus to Raven. Robin gently handed Raven to Starfire, who immediately floated off the ground once her quasi-unconscious friend was in her arms. Then, Starfire flew swiftly out the warehouse’s door, heading in the direction Robin had indicated the hospital would be located.

Meanwhile, Robin watched her fly away. He’d never met someone quite like Starfire before, but he was glad that he did. There seemed to be a specific strength about her, Robin thought, and that Starfire carried with her the will of a warrior, strong and determined to not let her friends get hurt. Then, he remembered that he still had a lead to follow, and wondering about the redheaded alien girl would have to wait, at least for now.

12:51 AM

Robin ran outside, into the pale moonlight, determined to find something, anything that could lead him to Raven’s attacker. If the situation was truly as serious as Raven had speculated, Robin knew he was in for a very, very long day. However, as he’d been taught over the years, it was best to move one step at a time. His instincts pointed to the St. Andrew’s Cathedral and the corpse inside. He entered with the swift grit of a detective working against the clock. The area was quiet and still, and Robin suspected that it hadn’t changed much since Raven was in here herself.

Sure enough, there was the man Raven referred to as Mr. Gunderson. He was in one of the pews, appearing to be deathly limp without budging a single inch. Gravity had apparently taken whatever toll it was going to on this man, for he looked as though he couldn’t slump any farther downwards. Robin approached him but wasn’t horrified. Living with the Dark Knight meant that he’d come across more disturbing things than a simple dead body or lifeless shell, and it was always best to block the horror out and get down to business. Besides, Robin knew he couldn’t get much done if he spent the next few minutes vomiting.

He held up Gunderson’s head to get a good look at the face, in hopes of possibly recognizing it. He didn’t. Robin then reached into the man’s jacket pockets, searching for some kind of clue or identification. However, it was only when Robin got to Gunderson’s lower back pocket on the right that he was able to pull out a wallet. Mark Gunderson’s driver’s license was inside, and Robin took a brief moment to note that, compared to the picture, the guy had lost a significant amount of hair, and the image was borderline unrecognizable. People would be surprised if they could see differences in looks between a dead person and a living one, Robin mused.

Gunderson’s license also featured an address—Robin had a lead.

With that in hand, he was away from the site and already heading towards the street. Robin figured he had to move anyway, since authorities—paramedics, police cars, and others—were showing up. Soon, they’d find and figure out that Mark Gunderson was dead, which meant that Robin didn’t particularly need to be here anymore. Leads had to be followed, and Robin was trained well enough to know that. So, he produced a Bat-grapple gun from his yellow utility belt, pointing it at a street lamp. Robin’s thumb pressed hard on the button and, with a bursting crack, the spike of the grapple swiftly shot out and found a home in Robin’s intended target.

Almost instantly, the grapple retracted, and the force of such a pull yanked Robin into the air. Of course, he was clearly used to this death-defying feat, and the objective of it was not to swing (as many might initially suspect), but to actually be whip-lashed into the air. The Bat-grapple’s spike was soon pulled out of the street lamp’s head as Robin darted past it like a missile. He then methodically engaged in the next part of this maneuver: by grabbing the corners of his cape and, holding on tightly, spreading his arms, Robin actually glided for a considerable distance, swift as a coursing river, and with the force of the wind itself aiding him.

Robin soon realized that he could only keep this up for so long: his speed and altitude were significantly decreasing. He directed his “flight” toward a truck with a trailer, sometimes referred to as an “18 wheeler,” that was heading down the city’s main highway in the direction Robin intended to go. Landing as gracefully as possible, he exhaled with relief as he placed his hands softly on the roof of the trailer to hang on. Then, with one hand, Robin reached into his belt and pulled out Gunderson’s driver’s license, checking it one more time.

Within minutes, Robin got ready to leap off; he wasn’t far now. He glanced at the address on the license card again and put it away, taking a deep breath. Robin set his foot to the edge of the trailer and, at the same time, produced two Bat-grapple guns, holding one in each hand. Then, just as the 18 wheeler passed East Street, Robin lunged off, diving forward fast. He pointed his left grappler forward, shot the spike, and was yanked through the air at fantastic velocity. Finally, he came upon the apartment building of Mark Gunderson and, firing his right grappler at the appropriate balcony, reached it effortlessly. He would make his mentor proud.

Stealth was the key now, Robin reminded himself. He quietly swung his leg over the side of the balcony and approached the apartment’s sliding glass door. Putting his hand to it, Robin examined the glass thoroughly and, when he was convinced there was no threat of an alarm, slid the door open. He narrowed his eyes, which darted around the room, assimilating possible threats and dismissing unlikely ones. Confident that his entrance went fully unnoticed, Robin smiled to himself and retrieved his small flashlight from one of his belt’s compartments.

He had the skills to rummage through a room and find what he needed quickly, but Robin never really ever stopped to glance around. For some reason, he did this time. The apartment was dark (thanks to the effects of midnight, no doubt) and, from what Robin could tell, not entirely well kept. Various clothes lay scattered about the floor, especially sports jerseys and dirty underwear. Even with all the brooding he did at times, Robin couldn’t help but smile. The place was cozy. Gunderson must’ve had a nice life, and Robin wondered what Raven was talking about when she said that he was troubled about his past decisions.

Robin approached a mahogany wooden counter, picking up one of the framed pictures. It housed Mark Gunderson (similar to how he looked in his driver’s license as opposed to how he looked at St. Andrew’s), a young man with short messy blond hair and no sign of pimples or blemishes (probably the man’s son, Robin guessed), and a woman with shoulder-length light blond hair. Not one of them looked distressed, especially not Mark.

For a moment, Robin pondered the picture because it reminded him of his own family. He’d spent the better part of a decade trying to block out the painful memories but, in doing so, he also blocked out the happy ones. He could remember times he had prepared to smile before a camera with his father, his real father, and resist his mother’s suggestions to fix his hair, even though it was just the one time. “If you’re going to act that way,” she’d said, long ago, “you’ll have to live with the clowns.” Another smile spread over Robin’s lips, and he tried to remember more happy memories.

Forgetting why he was there, Robin continued to look around the counter and shelves. Trophies lined them up and down, side to side, organized by year and presented ostentatiously. All of these housed the same name, “Robert,” and were either for “Most Valuable Player” or something else of great recognition. And, in that fleeting minute, Robin knew that this Robert must’ve made his father proud countless times over and, just once, Robin wished he could do the same again.

Suddenly, the room’s light turned on, and Robin jumped from sheer shock. It was rare for him to be caught off guard, but this was one of those rare times. His back was to whoever entered the room, and that person screamed, “Put your hands where I can see them! NOW!”

Robin raised both his gloved hands in surrender, putting them behind his head, and interlocking the fingers. He slowly turned around to the sight of a middle-aged woman in a white nightgown, holding a small revolver, which was pointed at his chest. He recognized her face from the picture.

“Mrs. Gunderson,” Robin said calmly, still in surrender, “We need to talk.”

1:08 AM