Fan Fiction ❯ Rose, tint my world ❯ Nostalgia Syndrome ( Chapter 2 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

“Rose, tint my world”

Chapter two, “Nostalgia Syndrome”

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Yes, we finally see some action in this chapter. Not much, admissibly, but it's there.
On another more important note, at the end of this chapter, I've got a sidestory featuring none other than Blackfire. A pretty heavy reference from a Racewing fic was made in it, outlining a lovely lil' establishment called “The `Roid”…all you really need to know is that it was a maximum security prison centralized on an asteroid that she had been placed in, and broke out of…with little difficulty.

It'll do you good to read it, as well, being as these two stories will run into each other further down the line (Provided that my muse lives that long)

“…Blood on the streets in the town of New Haven.

Blood stains the roofs and the palm trees of Venice.

Blood in my love in the terrible summer.

Bloody red sun of fantastic L.A

BLOOD!

Screams her brain as they chop off her fingers

BLOOD!

Will be born in the birth of the nation

BLOOD!

Is the rose of Mysterious union.”

“PeaceFrog”, -The Doors

**************************************************************

It was hardly registered when dawn made its eventual ascension to the horizon of Jump city.

This was mainly due to the fact that day, at the given moment, could no longer be distinguished from night.

The rolling thunder clouds that consumed the sky barely shifted in intensity, and the very vaguely less severe shade of black they adopted didn't quite qualify as change.

That, as much as a wholesome lack of sleep, was to blame for the collective tardiness the Titans premiered in emerging from their quarters.

Thomas, however, was a none-too-shocking exception.

At precisely seven, the shaken boy left his room, and traipsed silently into the living quarters.

Even before entering, the smooth hissing snakes of rain settled into his earshot.

Rather than front any shy attempt to make himself more at home, he approached one of the large windows, and gazed quietly out.

Occasionally, he would switch focus from the mainland, which barely managed to penetrate a dense veil of early morning fog, to the steady cascades of rainwater that washed over glass.

But for four solid hours, he stood perfectly still.

When those four hours took their eventual toll, he was startled by a slightly familiar, but moreover intentionally loud voice, “Dude!”

Thomas whirled around to see that the green boy who had taken his bag yesterday had, from the looks of his hair and eyes, just awoken.

“Now this storm stuff is just…scary.”

As if the violent weather had set him under some mild trance, Beastboy offered nary a good morning as he stepped past Thomas, to gape out the window.

“I hope this clears up soon.” His remark was light and conversational. Not becoming of the circumstances, from any rational standpoint.

“I remember last year when Hurricane Luis hit the coast and we had to help all those dumb beach people evacuate. Man, that was a pain. We actually had to convince some lunatic that his wife and kids were more important than `surfing the big one'. Some of those people are just…”

“You're…” Thomas begun to interrupt, but fell short.

Beastboy cast a quizzical gaze unto him, prompting to get it out. With some struggle, he managed, “You're afraid…aren't you?”

The reply fell from dramatic expectation. “Huh?”

Thomas shook his head dismissively. “Nothing. No, just…forget I ever said anything.”

And to follow this up, he turned as to start for the dining area, but stopped short when Beastboy spoke in a slightly hollow tone, “I'm terrified.”

A gaze over the shoulder revealed the changeling, wearing one of his sparse `serious' faces.

“Rae told us everything she knew yesterday. Don't think I've ever been so scared, but I hate showing it, so I just try to…put it off, y'know?”

Thomas stalled too long in answering to this, and lost his chance to produce anything at all when Robin emerged.

“Wow, and I'm usually the early bird of the group.”

Both Thomas and Beastboy looked toward the Boy Wonder as he took his exiting step from the boarding corridor.

“Morning, you two.”

The former offered a shy nod of his head, whereas Beastboy found further use for his vocal cords,

“Will you look at the weather? This is insane!”

“I know.” Robin glanced out the windows at the ongoing storm. Stronger still, the clouds rolled through with no sign of subsiding.

“I'm hoping it's not going to interfere with what I have in mind for today…” His attention readjusted onto Thomas. “How're you feeling, Thomas? Get enough sleep?”

Again, the boy replied with a nod of his head. “Yes. Thanks for…everything.”

Robin smiled. “Don't mention it. If you don't mind, I'd like to sit you down after the others wake up, so we can ask you some questions.”

For the third time, a nod acted as the response.

Perhaps past his frail mental condition, Thomas Hefty wouldn't be described as having the gift of gab.

And to some slight degree, this made Robin less than expectant for the questioning he promised.

“Alright, Thomas. What we have to know is pretty simple, but your answers have to be precise.”

Thomas did not spare his eyes from the ground, even as Robin spoke.

Starfire, Beastboy and Cyborg sat on the left of the living room's three couches and had made it a point to ensure that Thomas wound up on the right.

He didn't entirely mind this, as the position taken up allowed him to stare directly into the eyes of Raven, whom stood silently at the foot of the boarding corridor.

The others knew better than to attempt including the sorceress into this particular venture, especially when her mood had been considered, but as Robin pulled the questioning off the runway, she made her standoffish appearance.

The plain blue irises never once left Thomas' hunched form.

“Gathering from some of the things you said yesterday, we've guessed that you're not from Jump City. That right?”

The boy nodded. With both hands cupped over his mouth, a muffled, “Yes.” followed. This, however, was as far as he went.

Robin didn't let the hopeless possibility of more detail stall him, though. “So, where did you come from?”

“…The Vintage strand.” Was his reluctantly placed answer.

“I heard o' that place.” Cyborg's interjection did Thomas an oblivious favor.

“Some chain of swamp islands a pretty good clip across the ocean, ain't it?”

“Yes.”

“But if I did my homework right…” His lone eye exhibited a fast recall of dusty, old memory, “the entire strand was bought by some wealthy family five or so years ago.”

“Yes, that was…” A hard wince cut Thomas off mid-sentence. The entire group tensed at this, but the only support offered came from Robin, “Take your time.”

The next words were labored, and unsteady.

“They were my family. An aristocratic widow, and her little boy, David.”

“…David?” Starfire was first to voice the question that immediately settled into the mind of everyone present.

“Did you not say your name was…”

“I was adopted.”

All further queries, or intended queries were promptly killed by this.

This, being something no one figured would be happening in any proximal timeframe.

Thomas Hefty was beginning to open up, and as some sort of stimulant, his speech dilemma lifted.

“The most I remember about my real parents is empty beer cans, and loud music…” The young man's eyes went distant as the facets of his sordid life settled upon him.

“And all my dad's rings…” His fist leveled suddenly, “and the marks they left.” And proceeded to gently swing into the open palm of his other hand.

In the space that this information relayed, the living room was silent as a grave. Most did not speak simply because of the countenance of what they heard; Starfire was the only one truly shocked speechless.

Although physical strength was greatly revered on Tamaran, and fighting was carried out through the good of sportsmanship, what one here on Earth would deem as `Domestic abuse' wasn't even a thought in her head- -let alone to one's own child.

“…One day, it just all stopped. The police took them away, locked them up for a long time, and they put me in a group home…I sometimes wonder if I'd have been better off on my own…”

This was too much for Robin, and he willed himself to speak, “They weren't abusive, too…were they?”

Thomas quickly shook his head, “No, they just…nobody wanted me.”

A sad, heavy sigh ensued.

“I spent a long time alone, they said it was because I wouldn't talk as much as the other kids. That confused me because my dad…could never stand…”

Struggle included itself anew as Thomas bore on. This time, however, he had to switch subjects, for fear of digging too far down.

He didn't want to think about those days, and these benevolent people didn't need to hear about them.

“The years went by, and just melted into one. I shut myself off from the rest of the world, lost sense of time, direction…everything.”

“But someone took you in eventually, right?”

Beastboy took an interest in the conversation piece, perhaps out of his vague appreciation for the subject-change, and was sure to add his say.

Thomas nodded to the delightful memory, “It was five years ago, but it's still fresh in my head. She was in her mid thirties, with an infant son. Her husband died in some sort of freighter explosion, I never got the whole story, but from what she could tell me, they were good together. So good, that all the money she got from the lawsuits, and even David's future couldn't help her.”

“So she adopted you?” The Changeling queried further while leaning in.

“Much as she loved David, he was just a little baby. She told me she needed someone she could really talk to. I can't really blame her, the grieving, and the seclusion…”

His voice faltered, but promptly picked back up, “I guess we had a lot in common, we got along great.

And then one day she decides to take three fourths of her winnings, and buys that Strand. Where we lived before was getting to violent, crime ran rampant, and she didn't want David growing up in that kind of atmosphere.”

From this point, Thomas' demeanor took an abrupt, steep decline. With a quivering jaw and an uncharacteristically rough tone of voice, he pressed on. “That's what made things so ironic, so fucked up, we moved there for an improvement, and then…”

Tears begun to spill from his eyes, though no one could tell if it was sadness, or white-hot rage. For fear of the latter, he managed only two more words without disruption.

“And…then…”

“Enough, Thomas.” Robing advanced forward and placed a hand on Thomas' shoulder and, sure to elaborate, added, “I mean that's enough, you've told us all we need to know.”

“Not necessarily.”

Raven's dry, hoarse voice interjected from the hallway.

All heads turned toward the mystic as she approached.

“You never answered my question last night, Thomas.”

She stopped only a foot shy of the boy, whom was now whipping his tears away.

He, of course, was the only person presiding that knew what she was talking about.

However, he wasn't the only one to note the desperately hopeful look in her eyes.

And whilst returning that with a similar gaze, he spoke in an unsteady voice, “I'm going to have to wear it…”

Silence.

“I'm going to have to wear him, aren't I?”

Lost as they may have been, the others only watched as a dramatically fierce stare-down followed.

One that Raven was, by observation, losing.

In a gradual fashion, she replied, “There's…just no other way. I wish there was, but…”

This struck them, Beastboy particularly, with a significant impact.

The few times Raven spoke, she was clear, concise, and generally acid-tongued.

She sparingly sounded apologetic, and she never trailed off like this.

Whatever the subject she had touched base on may have been, it was clearly the source of great struggle.

And indeed, that assumption was correct.

Whether Thomas Hefty could tell or not, asking something like this ate Raven up on the inside.

To escape from the fury Mothsera had the potential of raising, only to be shoved back into it.

No, this was a question that did nothing short of torment Raven with every word she breathed.

Worse still, it was a no-win situation. Yes or no, the answer wasn't going to be savory.

Unbeknownst to her, Thomas, or anyone else, fate had different plans in store.

All at once, the Tower's alarms sounded off, braying an unbearably loud racket into the living room.

The vague shock that assailed the titans from this prevented any of them from noticing Thomas nearly jump out of his skin.

“WHAT'S GOING ON?!?” He shouted over the unbearably loud klaxons.

“Trouble!” Robin gave an unsatisfying reply, then started for the wide screen set directly before the couches.

With a strike of the `console' button, a map-display of Jump city arose, and pinpointed a particular locale labeled “HQ” in bright green lettering.

To this, the boy wonder scratched his head.

“…at the police headquarters?”

“DUDE!” Beastboy's drawn out grown prevailed amongst the klaxons, “When is that crack-pot chief gonna' learn that if he wants to tell us something all he has to do is CALL?!?”

His fingers proceeded to plug into his ears, “I mean seriously, that button is for EMERGENCY ONLY!”

Nearly a solid minute passed before Robin managed to kill the symphony of noise, and after a few vain attempts to reorientate his ears, turned toward the others.

“Well, he might not be as good as the last police chief, Beastboy, but we're still public servants, and we still have an obligation to answer his calls.”

Upon making this note, he turned to Thomas.

“I guess I should've told you earlier, but it's our job to keep Jump City safe. And when the chief calls like this, we kinda' have to hear him out.”

“Yeah.” Cyborg rose from the couch, “'less we wanna' start paying for the cable.”

“So,” Robin picked back up, “I think there should be just enough room in the T-car for one more…if, of course, you want to tag along.”

Thomas nodded his head rather quickly. “I…don't think I wanna be alone.”

Why Wesley Underwood, quite possibly the most bumbling, impulsive man in Jump, was actually chief of the city's police force was anyone's guess.

Had the position's entry been based off merit and a sense of leadership, he wouldn't likely have gotten it, but in the end, what could Wesley say?

Thirty years of faithless service as sheriff in a neighboring county, the abrupt retirement of his predecessor, and a risky `transfer' procedure that raised many-a-public-eyebrow worked more magic than he expected.

…Magic.

Underwood was caught by that word. At the present moment, he wouldn't have considered it appropriate, although he sought nothing to replace it with, being as he simply could not admit to himself that the trials of his undeserved position were getting to be too much for him.

For the upteenth time, the Chief cast a sidelong glance through the blinds of his window.

From here, he had an excellent view of the parking lot, and damn it all if they still hadn't shown up. It was difficult to see past the driving rain, but he could tell. In his old age, a lot of the senses were waning, but by-God, his sight hadn't gone yet.

A heavy sigh released as he sank down into his chair, and looked over several papers strewn across his desk.

Oh, well. No need to rush this.

Wesley still had to come up with some kind of story to make himself look completely innocent of his predicament. The Governor had already begun to clue into several of the mistakes he had made in the past, and that asshole Assistant Chief of Staff had been riding on him from the get-go. If word of his negligence in this particular episode got out…

He shook his head sadly.

If word of his negligence got out, Wesley Underwood could kiss not only his position, but his badge goodbye.

“Chief?” A voice crackled through an intercom on the desk, startling Underwood half out of his mind.

After casting an irritated glance at it, he held down the `speak' button, and muttered, “Go ahead, Nancy.”

The return from his secretary less than a room away brought something he did not want to hear.

“The kids're here, they said you called them.”

He made sure the button was not depressed as he let out a long, frustrated wail, “Oh, nooo!”

Why the Hell did he call them in the first damn place? Now Underwood knew he was too dependent on them.

The Titans were uncomfortable as it stood. Wesley Underwood's secretary, Nancy Wilhelm was an old battle-axe that believed the Teen Titans stole the esteemed honor and glory that was intended for Jump City's finest.

That being said, it was seldom that they ever received a warm welcome upon answering the plethora of calls the Chief put forth.

Now, she sat in the rolling chair behind her desk, far too concentrated on filing her nails.

Then, after what seemed like an hour of stalling, Wesley Underwood's voice replied, “Send `em in.”

Without even bothering to look up from her handiwork, she murmured briskly, “You heard the man.”

Raven, whom brought up the group's rear as they filed into the Chief's office, couldn't put a hold on her tongue, “Gee, thanks, Nancy. Don't know what this station would do without you.”

Nancy only retorted with a `Go to Hell' type of leer, till the mystic was out of sight.

Robin didn't waste much time on formal greetings, being as Underwood himself had pretty well given them up shortly after gaining his position.

Instead, the Boy wonder cut right to the chase after the door was closed.

“What's the problem this time, Chief?”

Wesley rose from his chair and worked his way around the desk.

“Hey, guys, I, uh….hope Nancy didn't give you too much hassle.” His dodge was hardly graceful, and Robin didn't look amused.

“Charming, as usual.”

His sarcastic reply clashed with the flat tone of voice. “What's the problem.”

Wesley sighed plaintively.

No getting out of this, so what was he to do?

“Well, it's about one of my sheriffs.”

Wing it, and hope like Hell that they didn't know very much about the real cops.

Running a hand through his hair, the Chief begun to explain, “Deputy Sheriff Ronald Hall's gone missing. He was doing his morning rounds at about seven, and just all the sudden stopped reporting in.

It's been nearly three hours, now. I need someone to figure out where my man is!”

A heavy silence followed, in the time of which, Wesley was silently praying they wouldn't clue in…

“Now, that's odd.” Cyborg spoke up.

Underwood immediately begun worrying, and soon his reason became genuine.

“I thought an investigation was supposed to immediately result if the officer didn't report in for thirty minutes.”

This, indeed, caused several suspicious looks to be cast unto the Chief.

“Well, surely you'll understand, I've just got too much going on right now to tenaciously follow Standard Operating Procedure, I mean…”
“It's alright Chief, I totally hear ya'..” Beastboy interrupted, causing Wesley to look toward him. Beads of sweat had broken out on his brow.

“You're way too busy calling us for dumb stuff like this!”

The Changeling snapped, then turned to the exit

“C'mon, let's let him handle his own for once.”

Surprising as Beastboy taking the assertive may have been, it quickly came second to what resulted when he tried to open the door.

“Guys, please!” Wesley took a wide step forward and snapped the door shut.

“Look, I know I'm not as good the last Chief, but I'm doing the best I can, I'm still new to this thing!”

His pleading tone destroyed further protest.

“So, I'm asking you, not as Chief of Jump City police, but as a simple human being trying to make his way in the world, help me out!”

Just when it seemed Wesley Underwood was going to drop to his knees and outright besiege, he lapsed into a hopeful silence.

“…Touching.” Raven was first to remark in the wake of the spectacle, snapping Robin out of the vague trance it had placed him under.

“Alright, alright, Underwood, we'll find this guy for you.” He shook his head and sighed.

“Where was he when he last reported in?”

“State road thirty seven.” Wesley answered without missing a beat. “It's a little farming community just on the outskirts of the city.”

“You talkin' about that `Twin Oaks' place?” Cyborg cut in, catching something vaguely familiar.

“That's right, Twin Oaks.”

“Awwww, man!” The bionic groaned while slapping his forehead. “That place's huge, trying to find one lousy squad car out there's gonna be like looking for a black shirt in a dark room! Aren't you supposed to have scanners to track this guy?”

For the second occasion of the day, Wesley's face was creased by a hard wince.

“Alright, don't get mad…” His hands rose defensively, “But last year when we took the stock counts, I kinda sold the station's navigational systems.”

For a solid minute, Cyborg could only stare blankly. Then, in a drained voice, “You…you gotta' be kidding me.”

Underwood was quick to find distraction in the bombardment of papers upon his desk. While retreating to the other side of the office, he muttered frantically, “We were on a tight budget last year, a lot of the trainees were messing up, making us pay an arm and a leg in repair costs, I just…didn't see any other option.”

At this point, the office exploded.

“YOU DIDN'T SEE ANY OTHER OPTION?!?” Cyborg bellowed while bounding over the desk as to set himself directly before Wesley.

“HOW `BOUT DEMANDING AN INCLINATION ON TAXES TO INCREASE YOUR BUDGETING, OR LAYING OFF SOME O' THE DO-NOTHING FREELOADERS LIKE THAT LOVELY SECRETARY YOU GOT OUT THERE, OR BETTER YET, WHY NOT JUST START PUSHING SOME OF THE CONVISCATED PARAPHINILLIA YOU GOT LAYIN' AROUND THIS STATION? ANY OF THOSE WOULD'VE BEEN BETTER OPTIONS THAN SELLING STOCKS OF STATE OF THE ART EQUIPMENT!”

The other Titans stared in silent awe at this, even as the beet-red hue that had dominated his face begun to taper off. Seconds turned into minutes, till finally his breathing returned to normal.

Wesley only averted his gaze from the floor when Cyborg spun on his heel and started for the door.

He accentuated his leave with a resigned, “Let's just get in the T-car n' get this over with.”

Thomas, oddly enough, was first to follow suit, and exit the scene.

Robin and Raven followed in silence, but Beastboy, whom trailed naught a foot behind, was sure to leave Underwood with an impressionable remark, “And next time it better be something important.”

Starfire brought up the Titans' rear, wearing her usual warm smile.

“Perhaps your affairs will prosper with time, friend Wesley.”

The Chief gaped at her momentarily, before returning with a subtle smile of his own.

“I sure hope they will.”

Beastboy had later remarked during the drive that Chief Wesley Underwood may as well have called them out in the middle of an F-5 hurricane.

In truth, it wasn't that much of an exaggeration.

The rain beat down upon the T-car's windshield consistently, and only seemed to gain strength as it pressed on, near the city limits. It was the very first occasion where the car's headlights had to be used in the middle of what would generally be considered noon.

“So…” Robin murmured without taking his eyes from the landscape's exchange of skyscrapers and sidewalks for dark, open pastures, “How big was this place, exactly?”

“Big enough to just back out.” Cyborg grated, easily revealing his still bitter mood.

To this, the boy wonder inwardly winced. It looked like they had a long day ahead of them.

The search's conclusion, though seen in the wake of a great effort, held little victory.

Over the duration of the Titans' five hour absence, the tower they called home was dismally silent.

Not something one would call uniform, but still blatantly rational, given the circumstances.

Defense systems were dampened in exchange for energy conservation, the lights were shut off, and if any noise by some uncommon incident were to rise, it would echo throughout the entire establishment for what seemed like an eternity.

And such was the case when footsteps abruptly shuffled out through the main hall, on the ground floor.

Security cameras whirred to life, and took in the forms of six figures, veiled by the darkness.

Slowly, they passed through the main hall, towards the lifts.

Had there been more light, the exhaustion that played upon the bearing of the Titans and Thomas Hefty upon their return would have been plainly visible, but even so, there was significant indication.

A slow `step-drag-step' sort of movement that each seemed to possess, most of them bent slightly forward with slumped shoulders as to accommodate a worn out torso, and an overall gradual progress that molasses paled in comparison to.

Despite this, not a yawn one was stifled.

Granted, physical tire often held the primary stake in a yawn, but to do it, one had to be on good terms with the life they were leading; nothing could be tugging at the back of their mind, or providing worry for a safe future.

That, as much as the above statement is a logical assumption, was far misplaced from the matter at hand.

What was discovered amongst Twin Oaks' stretch of two lane roads and flat grazing fields destroyed any further chance of a content life.

In their exhaustion or perhaps newfound fear, none present showed much attention to their immediate surroundings.

Inviting leather couches that furnished the main hall were passed by with nary a glance, the roll of red carpet that stretched from the front of the room right on out to the exit was traipsed over by damp soles, and terse, polished tile flooring, for all its hard maintenance, was given no gratification.

After the sight that was beheld on this fateful day, none wanted to stay on the tower's ground floor, closer to existence, for too long.

Save that, Cyborg made it a point to immediately get back to the top floor and pull the defense systems back into full operation. Hell, maybe even use the sparsely implemented `emergence mode', if he felt it would make it a little easier to breathe tonight.

The elevator ride was coupled with a silence so heavy Robin was almost sure it could have achieved a gravity.

For the second occasion of the last fifteen minutes, he cast a subtle glance toward Thomas Hefty. No change. The size of the boy's eyes had not given in. Still shocked. Still terrified.

After fearing that his staring would soon gain some unwanted attention, Robin averted to Starfire.

Amongst everyone else, she worried him the most. The venture of death was one that, for all he could imagine, she had never before had to deal with. He could only hope that in her silence, she was taking it well.

A sharp ding broke out from the lift's roof, allowing the heavy doors to slide away.

Robin did not hesitate to retreat to the living room and, being the very first to leave the boarding corridor, was welcomed shortly thereafter by the sounds of several room doors behind him opening, then closing.

Despite how much of a time issue their predicament had become, there was simply no energy left to handle it at the current moment.

Now, Robin gazed silently out at the dead world below- -what little of it he could see, anyway.

The very person he had come to fret the most over joined him in a particularly short timeframe.

Starfire crept up silently from behind, her reflection just barely registering in the window.

“…The sheriff that friend Wesley asked us to find…he is…”

Save hopelessly lost, her tone of voice seemed hurt, causing Robin's eyes to shut tight behind his mask.

He found it ironic how they had gone in search of a stalled out vehicle, likely accompanied by a frustrated cop, and were welcomed by so much less, yet so much more.

The former was found further toward the heart of Twin Oaks. The duration of state road thirty seven that was navigated by the Titans never once refracted, but opened several breaks that led into the scarcely populated rural community.

In due time, their drawn out commute through the vast expanse of pastures and fields turned up the empty patrol car of Ronald Hall, pulled off to the side of the road with its driver's door left hanging open.

Even so, this discovery was not particularly alarming, till the sight that presided within was beheld.

The front region was a near antithesis to the back which, separated by a layer of steel fencing between the headrests, looked undisturbed.

The dull brown color of the worn leather seats in front could barely be seen through elongated smears of blood, with just a hint of handprints. The direction in which the vaguely distinguished fingers ran led the eye downward to the flooring that, in all seriousness, was flooded by the bodily fluid.

Rectangular gas and brake pedals were little more than sharp corners barely piercing the thick puddles of crimson.

The last feature of the grisly sight that was Ronald Hall's patrol car was the Citizen's Band radio. Its speaker, which was connected to the console by a coiled cord, had come to rest on the flooring.

Had any of the Titans managed to endure this spectacle for more than ten minutes, the C.B's blood-flecked receiver would have been noted on the dash; the far left notch switched to the `emergency' frequency.

A shudder crawled up Robin's spine as he stole himself from a flashback set no less than four hours ago, and returned to the current moment.

Taking a breath, he turned slowly to face Starfire.

Both of the boy wonder's hands came to rest reassuringly on her shoulders.

“Don't think about it too much, Star.” He suggested gently.

“He's in better hands, now.”

The Tamaranean's emerald eyes fell to the ground as she searched for something to say. Not necessarily the right thing to say, but something simply to express the fragile state of mind today's events had placed her under.

“For something like this to happen…” Her voice was frail, and troubled as she hit the first half of an up-hill battle.

“Can we be sure the hands he is now in are good?”

This fell completely from expectation. Regardless of how awkwardly it was phrased, Robin could come up with absolutely nothing of the consoling variety to respond with.

Unbeknownst to both he and Starfire, however, there was someone else that presided within the living room that knew precisely what to say, in the worst possible context.

“I'm afraid that for the time being, that pathetic cattle you waste your minds fretting over is in my hands.”

The tone and texture of the speaker's voice came across as a distorted, hoarse lullaby that, amongst everything else, was completely alien.

Knowing better than to remain with his guard down, Robin quickly took a defensive stance.

“Who's there?” He demanded whilst searching for a spare birdarang on his belt.

A swift spin of his heel whirled the boy wonder around, and brought the dining room into his field of vision.

A tall figure stood behind the bar, so shadowed by the room's darkness and deemed gloom, Robin had almost missed him the first time he looked.

His identity did not endure as such a mystery for long, though, before Thomas Hefty intervened with a flick of the light switch.

How long the boy had stood at the foot of the boarding corridor had lost its relevance, and his presence more-or-less welcomed when he fixed his gaze unto the intruder.

“It's…” His sole word could barely be heard over the deep gasp that escaped. “It's you.”

To this, it smiled while laying a hand on the countertop.

“So, this is where you ran off to. I admit, it was an ideal dwelling for refuge. But it is over, now, and I've grown weary of your games, boy.”

It took a subtle step toward Thomas, but was sure to cast a glance toward Robin and Starfire.

“I'm sorry for the disturbance that this little…insect has caused you. But now, I would like to take him off your hands…”

Starfire had simply frozen, but Robin managed to overcome the sheer nightmarish being that his eyes took in, and retorted, “No chance!”

To this, it scoffed. “Fool. Have you not realized that my influence has already spread to this miserable little city? It is only a question of time before I gain what I have sought for all of these years, what the firstborne tried to steal from me!” It advanced further on Thomas whom, surprisingly enough, did not relent.

“But it would be far less of a struggle, if I were to get what I came here for.”

A decayed hand extended out to the boy, whom only stared.

“Give me the mask, Thomas…and I may decide to let you die quickly.”

There was little if no hesitation before he growled in defiance, “That mask…is mine.”

A clear scowl marked what little could be seen of its face, but in the same collected tone, it replied, “Not a wise decision. And here, I thought you knew what was good for you…”

The same hand that intended to receive Thomas Hefty's infernal mask now extended outward, as if to grab the boy by his throat.

Robin armed his pole in preparation to interject, but did not receive time to act before a bright blue beam shot from the other side of the room

Mothsera's offending hand was lanced with incredible aim, blowing all but the thumb away.

The scream that followed was more out of surprise than pain as it grasped the injury and redirected its attention to Cyborg, whom had emerged from behind.

“Over my dead body.” The bionic declared solemnly while readying himself for another blast.

Now, Mothsera's thinning patience showed as it spoke, “More blood for me to spill? Have at you, fool, and I will steal that cocksure look from your face!”

“I think this party's got room for two more.” A new voice remarked from the boarding corridors, causing the abomination to once more tear itself from its current subject.

Beastboy and Raven had chosen this moment to join the others, taking positions on either side of Thomas.

With them, the clear `no-win' outcome of this battle arrived.

Heavily considering resignation, Mothsera folded its arms and smirked, “My, my, I did not predict there to be such opposition for so simple a goal, and I'm afraid you haven't caught me at my most presentable of moments…”

The last remark was anything but inaccurate.

Mothsera, from the neck down, was a mass of worm-infested flesh that seemed in its prime of decomposition. Only small signs of the definition he allegedly worked on with such insane passion in life remained, and even with the entire body considered, there was only one feature not entirely rotted; a wide expanse of flesh upon one half of its face that allowed vague expressions to come across.

Even so, Mothsera's slightest gesture failed to play out the way it should, namely due to this lone piece of skin's crude fastening to the skull, via two staples at either end.

“Very well, Thomas.” It picked back up, sure to take a few cautionary steps in reverse.

“I shall leave you be, but even with the mask and these foolish little friends of yours, my cause cannot be compromised.”

What was supposed to be a smug grin spread across the small representation of its face, “That complacent fool, Trigon can't even stop me, now…But, if opposition is what you seek, I more than relish the opportunity to bring you to your knees at the strand. Till then, I bid thee farewell, and I do hope you cherish my…parting gift.”

To follow itself up with no reluctance, Mothsera flung both arms out, signaling the worms that wove in and out of its flesh to surface. Their numbers amplified, and emerged from every possible opening, till the walking corpse they called home could no longer be seen past their writhing forms.

The Titans only watched in silent, appalled awe.

All at once, the slimy mass of insects diverged, and scattered out to different directions of the living room, emptying the tower altogether in a relatively short window of time.

Nothing could be immediately said in the wake of Mothsera's visit. Robin had redirected his focus to Starfire, whom still seemed frozen in place, and what little attention the others had saved from the horror they had become witness to was reserved for Thomas Hefty.

As if locked in a trance similar to Starfire's, the boy fixed a hard gaze on the space of floor that Mothsera once occupied with only violently trembling fists to reveal his state of mind.

And before anyone could recover to ask what Mothsera's closing statement meant, it came to them, in the form of the Tower's loud klaxons.

Robin didn't bother to address this more or less common occurrence, in exchange for clearing the distance to the wide screen in less than two seconds.

For the second occasion of the day, an overhead two-dimensional representation of Jump city was pulled unto the screen.

The program's cursor took life of its own, and immediately scrolled in the direction of the disturbance, coming to rest on a stacked parking garage in the outskirts of the commercial district.

Most of this was not registered, though, when a secondary window appeared with several paragraphs of text outlining the problem.

Robin's heart skipped a beat as he took it in. Namely, the words “Bizarre cannibalization attempt”

Several seconds were needed for this to digest.

Raven however, who had a sinking feeling about this call, didn't sit well with being left in the dark, and was quick to ask in a slightly unstable voice, “What does it say?”

Even if Robin had wanted to answer, he would not be given time before the monitor's contents abruptly divided into thirds, then fourths, and in due time, sixths.

Each window showed a separate location, and what few information links he held the nerve to look into relayed the exact same thing.

All at once, he reached forward and prodded the `power' button, then turned around.

In an attempt to pick up his slack, he managed a vaguely audible, “Trouble” as he walked past Raven, and stopped short before Thomas.

“We can't just let what he's trying to do slide.” The boy wonder's announcement came clear, but seemed more directed to the person he faced than anyone else.

“We'll stop him. But first, we've got work to do right here.”

“I'm all for it.” Cyborg cued in as the other Titans begun to converge around their leader.

“But what do you think our plan should be? It looks like those things have already popped up all over the city.”

“I know.” Robin's brow furrowed, “Much as I don't want to do it, we're going to have to split up. If they're really zombies, they have to be taken out, fast.”

“I'm with Cy.” Beastboy wasted no time making his call, but was shot down with a negative shake of Robin's head.

“Not so fast, BB. We have to consider something, first…”

Any protest he was ready rise at this died when the boy wonder proceeded to nod toward Starfire whom, though recovered from her shock, was still visibly shaken.

“Uh…Star?” Easily catching a hint, Beastboy advanced on her, and gently took an arm into his hand.

“You okay?”

“I…” She cast a gaze unto him, but made no move to break his hold. “Yes. I am okay, friend Beastboy.”

“No, you're not.” Robin interjected while folding his arms. “I don't think any of us are. But if we don't want anyone to get hurt, we're going to need you with us.”

With a light seize of Starfire's other arm, he and Beastboy led her back to the group.

“But, I'm not going to outright demand you to be courageous out there, so I think it'd be best if you had two of us with you…just in case you freeze up like that again.”

The Tamaranean opened her mouth immediately as if to protest, but paused.

“I understand.” Her reply followed a brief delay, and was coupled with a subtle nod.

“Okay, good plan, but what're the two left on their own going to do?”

Raven's voice presented a subject that had long since come to rest in the mind of everyone else, but was not given as much attention.

“We might be able to hold our own for a little while, but what should we do if things get too heavy?”

“Best I can suggest is to run.”

Robin was quick to notice the Mystic's eyebrows rise at this remark, and emphasized, “I think we're all on the same page about Starfire, right?”

Reluctantly, there came a group nod.

“So, I guess if I were to be…” Robin didn't receive the opportunity to finish his thought.

As if on a complete spring decision, Thomas blurted “I'll go.” effectively overturning any further deliberation.

A short, awkward silence took the air before Robin picked up, “Are…you sure, Thomas?”

The boy nodded with no reluctance, as if to keep himself from debating.

“It'll be fifty-fifty. And…” His gaze edged toward Raven with each word, till the separately colored irises all but locked on her.

“And I don't want you to go to the strand…without me.”

Robin only had time to present himself with a lop-sided smile before Cyborg cut in, “Alright, so Tom's gonna help us out, real sweet, but right now time's wastin' and we still haven't figured out who's gonna go best with who…”

The stern, hectic tone of voice he presented wasn't taken for anything other than utmost importance, as Robin nodded in agreement.

“Well, I had been sketching something up, and I think things will work perfectly with Thomas, here…”

Familiar with their leader's introductory fashion of speaking, the Titans listened attentively as he begun to explain his plan.

Amongst other things, Jump city was at Mother Nature's mercy by the time the Titans had come to its aid.

The weather, for all anyone could figure, was the only reason the city wasn't entirely aware of the chaos brooding so near to them.

Only the individual with life-or-death business, or the criminally insane would endure the natural disaster that blew through the streets.

The former was a more accurate case for Robin, as he, Beastboy and Starfire neared their destination; an old park behind a landfill that was all but forgotten to the public, for the obvious reasons.

Beastboy, whose normally unruly crop of hair now matted to his head, hardly failed to remark upon the acrid odor, as they closed in on the park's basketball court, where the attack had taken place.

“Wow, that's a lovely fragrance.” His sarcastic voice provided light distraction to Robin as he scoured for an entrance.

“Really, who puts a public park next to a landfill?”

“Couldn't tell ya'…” The boy wonder muttered a reply, then looked toward the court's left corner.

A thick, rotted shaft of wood took place where the two expanses of fencing met, and stood nearly fifteen feet with a light fixture set at the end.

Either due to age, or simply poor maintenance, the most it could do was bathe the court in a deep orange glow.

This, however, was enough for one to see the gaping cavity at the foot of the pole, just large enough to crawl through.

“…But, this is where the terminal said the problem was.”

Robin was sure to finish before advancing toward the hole, and dropping to his knees.

Beastboy and Starfire on-looked in silence, then with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, the former followed suit. Both had more conventional ways of getting past the fence, but moreover, they were content with following Robin's lead.

“So…what are we supposed to be looking for, anyway?”

Beastboy asked while recovering to his feet. Rather than answer immediately, Robin gave a once-over to the freshly entered court.

Two columns of goals running along separate ends, each no more or less in a rusted state of disrepair than the next, and small, twin brick structures at the end across from him.

Robin frowned not at realizing they were bathrooms, but to the fact that there was no evidence of any struggle. In fact, the immediate premises looked undisturbed. Peaceful, almost, in this lighting.

“That's what I really hated about this…” He murmured flatly. “I'm not sure.”

“Perhaps it was a false call?” Starfire suggested, speaking for the first time since she had left the tower.

“We received six calls at six completely different locations in less than a minute.” Robin answered promptly, “If you're right, this is one of the most elaborate hoaxes anyone's ever…”

A sharp, loud crash tore out from the front of the court, cutting him off mid-sentence.

All eyes reflexively cast onto the narrow, dark alley that was created by the court's duet of restrooms.

An empty aluminum trashcan, once set upright at the foot of the gap, now lay on its side, and was beginning to roll out into the center of the court.

Even past the driving rain, it wasn't difficult to see the large smathering of blood that basted the can's side.

Robin quickly looked up to see the culprit's shadowed form, slowly approaching.

“Titans! Get ready!” He ordered frantically while assuming the defensive.

Much as all three wanted to pursue, they waited for it to come out into the open.

Come it did.

The hunched humanoid figure that emerged from the alley held the distinction as the biggest shock of their lives, collectively. Little if any details could be distinguished past a thick, red ooze that enveloped its entire body. What appeared to be incredibly viscous blood hung from its form in full inches, but did not separate when it lifted its arms, as if to guide the gradual, unsteady movement it held.

With an open window of time, Robin cast a wary glance toward Beastboy and Starfire.

Though visibly shocked, both looked ready to engage.

Robin argued with himself only briefly before sternly ordering, “Don't do anything.”

Starfire, whom was preparing to smite the creature with a well-placed star bolt, complied, but looked curiously toward Robin.

“There's only one, I'll take care of it.” His command was emphasized with a prompt arming of his pole, and from that, extracting a lengthy saber.

“What the…?” Beastboy puzzled aloud, having seen the blade for the very first time.

Still, he managed a tad of lame humor through the horrific scene at hand by adding, “You never told us you were a musketeer…”

“That's because I only practice with it.” Robin answered deadpan, “Unless the situation's serious.”

His cue to attack came when the bloody zombie lifted its head to a slight degree and let out a hollow, ghastly moan.

With a stout grit of his teeth, the boy wonder rushed forward and swung his saber to the side in preparation for an arching slash, all the while expecting his opponent to dodge.

To all three of the Titans' surprise, it made no such move when Robin closed the distance and lashed out.

With no protest, the blade hacked into the side of its neck, taking out a wide chunk of muscle and crimson slime.

Too shocked to carry his assault further, Robin pulled out, and sprang backwards as to create some distance between the zombie and himself.

With little of its neck left, its head hung at a strange, painful looking angle. Regardless, it advanced on Robin with both arms stretched out.

“…Star…” He called in a mildly alarmed voice. Easily picking it up, the Tamaranean wasted no time beginning her own onslaught with three star bolts.

Each connected with its target in quick succession to the last, the first and second hitting the body, and the third landing a bulls-eye on one of its arms, blowing everything from the shoulder down away.

The disconnected limb hit the gravel, but continued to function, using the hand to crawl its way toward Robin's foot. Ironically enough, it made better progress than the still moving zombie it once commandeered, and nearly hooked his ankle.

Sure to step carefully around it, Robin lunged forward and pulled a hard overhead swing, easily slicing through its other arm.

With nothing left but its torso, the zombie turned to face its foe, and continued to proceed forward with labored but reliable steps.

For a moment, Robin just gaped at this, completely at a loss for what his eyes were seeing.

His trance ended quickly, however, when a blur of green broke across his field of vision and smashed into the bleeding horror's side.

Gored by a shape-shifting Beastboy whom had wisely chosen a rhyno, it flew backwards with an outstanding momentum before splattering into the broadside of the women's restroom.

In the wake of the battle, all three simply stared as it slid down the brick wall, and came to rest on the ground, unmoving.

But the heavy silence that fell upon them did not last long before Robin's communicator begun to ring.

Pulling the device to his mouth, he depressed a button on the side, and murmured, “Go ahead, Cy.”

The bionic's response could barely be heard through a heavy bout of static that interfered, but the message was clear enough to understand, “Y-, ---, you f—nd ---thing?”

After taking a heavy breath, Robin replied, “Yeah, we did…it's dead. What about you?”

“Y---, we did, and I do--- think it was a ve-y good -ea to split up, `cause ----`re every----- -- this garage! We're at the exit, s- --`re safe, but we c—`t hold `em off forever, we ---- you guys with us!”

A heavy face fault marked his features, but in a calm tone, the boy wonder returned, “Okay, Cy, we're on our way, just sit tight.”

And with a resigned sigh, he returned the communicator to its place, though the announcement he was planning to make never crossed his lips.

“Robin!” Starfire gasped, causing him to look once more to the restrooms, where the zombie was beginning to stir.

Fin, chapter two of “Rose, tint my world”

“Omicron, persei eight”

Chapter one, “Welcome to the Machine”

There was simply no substitute for military reprimand, it seemed. Not even when it came to the Centauri.

That was what it all boiled down to for Blackfire, after her exodus from the `Roid.

Her recapture, though sluggish and particularly embarrassing for a species that had gained a rather well known reputation for policing the galaxy, elicited a fierce battle between the Centauri police force, and, ironically enough, the top brass of their very own military over which would hold the duty of keeping her securely locked away.

The board members that represented the general welfare of the police, known simply as `The Board of Justice', did everything they could to convince the judicial branch charged with finalizing a decision that Blackfire's escape from the `Roid was little more than a fluke that relied solely off a freak power failure.

The Military Brass, however, effectively argued that if that had really been the case, measures to pursue the renegade Tamaranean would have begun immediately after the fact, rather than damn near four months later, when the alleged reclaimed inmate simply detonated in her cell.

They also were sure to add that the reputation the police force had gained as whole likely accounted for their performance's loss of luster, which contributed greatly to Blackfire's escape.

If she were to be put back in the custody of the Centauri police, they concluded, this event would repeat itself, plain and simple.

This argument was, indeed, convincing. And try as they might, the Board of justice could do little to combat it. What little retort they held went over like a led balloon.

And six months after Blackfire's capture, it was decided; she were to be transferred from the `Roid (Where she had been placed for the duration of the legal war) to a massive space station directly neighboring Mars, headed by a well respected official of the military.

Little did the Judicial board know, the echelon military had their own motives for fighting so fiercely.

Not even a year following the transfer, those `motives' were formulated into plans, and those plans, in turn, were set into motion.

The colossal station, `The Flying Osprey', hung silently in the endless void of space, having just come out of a planetary orbit with the large, red sphere below.

This was particularly odd, being as the station only aborted this cycle in case of an emergency. More peculiar was the lack of communication. The morning prior, all frequencies with surrounding establishments, Military and Police alike, had been cut.

By what could be considered nightfall in earth's time frame, The Flying Osprey was completely alienated from the rest of the galaxy.

Commodore Cyraqs of the fifty-second fleet stood in perfect silence upon the bridge, his gaze fixed on a window that looked out upon the Red planet. He said nothing, till a lithe man of severe features (namely sunken cheeks that made him appear starved) approached from behind.

“Commodore…” The man addressed, and though Cyraqs did not turn to face him, he nodded his head and spoke, “What have you to report, Gravebane?”

After raising a particularly awkward salute, the man, clearly a Tamaranean with his bronzed flesh and bright red hair, replied, “I have studied the nobility of my home planet, just as you ordered, sir.”

“And?”

Thin lips jerked back into a conniving grin. “I heard no mention of the girl, whatsoever. If I didn't know better, I would say the entire planet's simply forgotten her.”

Cyraqs shook his head knowingly.
“She has royal blood coursing through her veins, Gravebane. They shall never forget.”

“She has been ostracized from the planet. Practically disowned.” A stubborn, slightly huffy retort followed, causing the Commodore to sigh inwardly; this Tamaranean was a fool, among other things.

“That does not disestablish her nobility. If Tamaran's royalty discovers this operation, I hardly think they will hesitate to seek repercussion, of the worst fashion.”

Now, he spun around to cast a solemn gaze unto Gravebane.

“I trust you are aware of just how important it is to maintain the absolute secrecy of this operation.”

The subordinate nodded his head, but simply wouldn't wipe that vexing, cocksure smile from his face.

“I do, Commodore. I simply declare that such concern may tamper with the operation's precedents. But regardless, I do.”

“Good.” Cyraqs turned back to the window.

“Then gather a detainment team and fetch her from the D-Block.”

“Yessir.” Again, Gravebane raised his weird salute (something involving flinging his arm out, as to cause the back of his hand to smack against his forehead) and started for the extensive brig of the Flying Osprey.

Blackfire, for her part, sat on the edge of her cell's cot, pondering deeply.

With her time spent in the `Roid, and the few months of incarceration she endured here, on the Flying Osprey, groveling over her capture had long since been replaced with musing over a way out.

She guiltily admitted to herself that her last escape from the `Roid was almost completely dependant on that temp clone, but she also knew that she had been in much worse binds than this.

And as long as she had her powers, a solution would, at some point, present itself.

For what must've been the sixth time in the last hour, Blackfire rose from the cot and ventured across the cell, to a space of wall towards the very back.

After issuing several well-rounded kicks to its base, she was almost sure that, for whatever reason, this particular spot was a few inches thinner than all the rest.

Possibly a former service hatch, or vent for the A.C's, she wasn't sure, but it felt hollow, and that was always a start.

Little did Blackfire know, as she knelt over to further her studying, that the staff of the Flying Osprey had other plans for her.

Footsteps.

These were the first sounds that greeted her, and a sharp click, then a dull whir promptly followed them.

The girl gazed over her shoulder casually, to be welcomed by a not-so-casual sight.

The force field that detained her was, for all she could tell, gone.

Figuratively replacing it were three heavily armored Centauri footmen, each armed with an `LK-14' Combat pulse rifle. This normally wouldn't have intimidated her so, but the LK-14's were well known for having tranquilizer mounts just underneath the central barrel. Blackfire had concluded that this damned gun was the main reason for her capture.

You could take the biggest, baddest brute in the galaxy, pit it against six or seven doses of the sedatives those things pumped out, and he'd be out like a light.

Another far less fatigued character joined this armed and armored trifecta. He was a tall, scrawny Tamaranean that, in Blackfire's opinion, didn't boast much for looks.

And in due time, he wouldn't have a whole lot running for charms, either.

“Good evening, Miss Blackfire.” He greeted, while taking a subtle step into the cell; a move the sentries were sure to follow.

Blackfire put on a sugary smile and replied, “Same to you, sir. Anything I can service you boys with?”

Gravebane curtly placed both hands behind his back before responding, “Well, would you mind telling me what you're doing?”
“Oh, just some wallpaper stuff.” She broke her confrontation with the wall to recover to her feet, and face the lithe man.

“Despite the lack of living space, this place isn't bad. I'm lookin' to buy.”

He allowed himself to chuckle briefly.

“Well, I'm afraid the Commodore requires your presence.”

Blackfire feigned surprise (or perhaps care) while placing a hand to her chest.

“The Commodore? What could such a decorated character want with a lil' ole' upstart like me?”

“Well, that, you shall soon discover in the worst way, I am afraid…”

His pleasant smile adopted a small degree of malice, which caused Blackfire's concern to quickly become genuine.

“What?”

Rather than answer, Gravebane turned toward the exit and muttered to the nearest guard,

“Plug her.”

Blackfire was barely given time to assume the defensive before three of the accursed darts hit her.

Immediately, her vision slowed and distorted.

This, however, wasn't enough to stop the renegade Tamaranean, and whilst attempting to blink the world back into focus, she jerked forward and belted the most proximal guard across the face.

The abrupt retaliation was rewarded by a voice amplification system emitting a terrified squawk as he toppled over, but in the time Blackfire turned her back, darts four and five were quick to sink between her shoulder blades.

“Uaaaahhhg!”

What she intended to be a string of particularly nasty obscenities emerged instead as a strained groan.

The legs that once carried her faithfully across the planet of Garmaria on a six-day string of heists now jellified under the effect of five tranquilizer darts.

Her next attempt to swing morphed to a less than graceful collapse into the arms of the very guard she punched. Rather than keep the half-conscious convict supported, he aborted his grip and let her hit the concrete floor below.

The pain that subsequently engulfed her jaw and cheek was little compared to the reddish blobs that she had begun to perceive which, from a sober standpoint, were the boots of the sentries.

A lone declaration voiced over a comms radio coupled her descent into a heavy, sedative induced slumber, “Prisoner Number nine thousand twenty seven has been subdued in preparation for Operation Whitesnake.”

The follow up to this was little more than incoherent babble to her as she teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, “Good. See to it that she is taken to the Bio labs, and make sure security is stepped up in the surrounding wing. No one comes in, no one goes out till everything is said and done. Am I clear, Private?”

“Crystal, sir.”

Considering her most wanted status, which came as a result of a vast array of crimes spanning across multiple galaxies, Blackfire had her fair share of mentally impairing beverages amidst the bar scene, and other more trivial circumstances.

She also, in subsequence, had her fair share of potentially lethal hangovers.

All of the `morning after's she had suffered in her life as an outlaw, however, paled in contrast to what greeted her when she awoke from her sedation.

It was difficult to adjust her vision, at first.

Not due to the heavy drowsiness or even the tranquilizers, but the room she had been placed in was pitch dark.

Had Blackfire held her hand out before her face, it would not have been visible.

This wasn't quite registered, though, over other presiding stimuli.

All at once, she was assailed by the worst migraine she could ever recall weathering.

`Split-skull' didn't prevail over `fault-line' as the most accurate description.

With all the strength and determination she could muster, the girl struggled into a sitting position and grasped the sides of her throbbing head. The pain only grew, but it came second to what resulted from her movement.

All too abruptly, her stomach rose protest to being disturbed, and let the world know it.

Suddenly, violently, Blackfire jerked to the side and hung her head over the edge of the bed she had been sprawled across. She just barely managed to drop her jaw, permitting a thick, bright yellow substance to free-flow out to the ground; whereever the Hell the ground was.

Far more than bitterness accounted for its taste. A burning, acidic tinge fried the recesses of her mouth, prompting her to hurry and get it all out.

After a few more frail heaves, the last of the alleged vomit was disposed to the floor, but a rancid aftertaste remained.

And the steadily worsening headache kept it company.

Physically drained, she slumped onto her back, and lay still.

This more than willingly accepted dormancy did not endure, however, when a wide monitor from somewhere beyond the bed flickered to life, bathing her accommodations in an eclectic blue glow.

“Ah, so our favorite subject awakens at last.”

Despite her suffering, Blackfire lifted her head just enough to see the interjecting appliance, and the withered face it displayed.

It was certainly not a Centauri, nor for that matter, a Tamaranean. If she didn't know better, she'd say the person she currently traded blank stares with was an…

“Earthling?!?” Her voice was hoarse and raspy, but audible as she applied some loose identification to the person.

“Indeed. Perhaps I should explain, I am Professor Gretschel, and I've focused my career as a man of science on the physical potential of my species. My findings and studies have become rather well known, over the years…” His brow creased in thought at his own remark.

“So well known, in fact, that the staff of this lovely station sent word for my assistance in an experiment they hoped to carry out on one of their tenants. You see, Blackfire, the procedure we have successfully implemented on you has required months of planning…”

“Procedure?”

This caused a certain panic button in Blackfire's head to be pressed, subsequently setting off loud sirens.

“PROCEDURE?!?”

She flew once more into a sitting position, easily shrugging off the pains that her stomach prompted.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?”

Her demanding bellow clashed sharply with Gretschel's calm, collected texture of voice as he answered, “We, dear child, have realized a pinnacle in molecular science. With the gracious donation of your once superb physical being, a new milestone has been reached.”

“Gracious my ass!” Blackfire bristled as she staggered from the bed and advanced on the monitor.

Frail as she was, her fuse had been lit and something was going to pay.

“I gave you and your conniving little buddies no permission to do a damn thing with me! What do you mean by `once superb physical being', and why was I drugged and dragged outta my cell?!?” She grew to such a proximity that her snarling face was directly in front of the Gretschel's.
“I want some answers, and if I don't get them…”

The livid girl clenched both fists as to permeate a violet glow of warding, and to her near hysterical surprise, was met by absolutely nothing.

The white-hot rage that had been building with significant strength promptly died.

Blackfire turned both hands to expose her palms to the ceiling, then glanced quizzically down at them.

Yup. Notta.

She averted to the screen before her. Gretschel had donned a pretty damned well vexing smile upon his old, wrinkled face, suggesting what he had done.

But Blackfire's denial pushed it away. Again, she clenched her fists and channeled her anger.

…And again, there was no outcome…save a substantial amplification of her headache from all that screaming.

It was now evident, she could no longer push it away. As a result, her head begun to grow light, and beads of sweat broke out on her brow.

Reality had already thrown some pretty nasty curve balls simply to devastate her life, but now it was bending and distorting to steal from her something more precious than supreme ruler of the galaxy, or her freedom, or even revenge upon her sister.

Now, it was taking a birthright she couldn't imagine existing without.

The last thing she heard before fainting from shock was a complimentary barb from Gretschel, “I'm proud to be the first to welcome you…to the machine that is Human existence.”

To Blackfire's very small, almost microscopic surprise, she had not been replaced to her cell over the duration she slept. Moreover, the monitor still displayed the notorious Professor Gretschel.

“My, my.” He remarked flatly at seeing her slight recovery. “To pass out at the reaction of your situation…rather weak in constitution, if you ask me.”

Blackfire's lips curled into an enraged snarl as she struggled to her hands and knees.

“You had better hope…” She growled while shifting to one hand, as to ball up a fist.

“That we never meet in person.”

Gretschel hardly looked phased.

“And what would you hope to accomplish, child?”

“I'd cave your wrinkled-up face in, you old fart!” The girl snapped, then added, “There was way more to me than just my powers, and if you think I'm gonna just let this fly…”

“More to you than just your powers, we know all about you, you mistempered fool.”

This sharp interjection easily shut Blackfire up.

“And though this operation may have gone well, you still have well over six months worth of exploratory testing to ensure that life can still be sustained, so you had better get used to me.

Push my buttons and I promise you, I will make your miserable little life not worth living.”

As quickly as he gained it, Gretschel's venomous tone of voice died, and was replaced by a warm smile.

“But try to look on the bright side, you are now The Flying Osprey's most valued inmate. For the duration of your tests, we have given you board in one of the station's Warden suites, with the proper security measures included, of course, and your sentence has been reduced by four years.”

Blackfire smirked at this, feeling some of her anger satiate. But only slightly.

“Gee, Gretsch, as much as that sweetens the pot, I'm afraid it doesn't quite add up to what you stole from me.”

“I agree. But I'm sure you will learn to live with it. Though we managed to drain you of a great deal, we could not take the remarkably drawn out life span that your race is known for having. Thus, you will have plenty of time to adjust.”

“I don't want to adjust.” Blackfire grated. “I want to KILL you!”

FIN

“…Micheal Rennie was ill the day the Earth stood still,

but he told us where we stand.

And Flash Gordon was there, in silver underwear.

Claud Rains was the invisible man.

Then something went wrong for Fay Wray and King Kong,

they got caught in a celluloid jam.

Then at it deadly pace, it came from outer space,

And this is how the message ran…

`Science fiction, double feature.

Doctor X will build a creature.

See androids fighting Brad and Janet.

Anne Francis stars in Forbidden Planet.

Oh, oh, oh, o-o-oh, at the late night double feature picture show.'

I knew Leo G. Carrol was over a barrel

When Tarantula took to the hills.

And I really got hot when I saw Jannete Scott

Fight a Triffid that spits poison and kills.

Dana Andrews said prunes gave him the runes

And passing them used lots of skills.

“When the worlds collide”, said George Pal to his bride,

“I'm gonna' give you some terrible thrills.”

…Like a…

Science fiction, double feature.

Doctor X will build a creature.

See androids fighting Brad and Janet.

Anne Francis stars in Forbidden Planet.

Oh, oh, oh, at the late night double feature picture show.

I wanna' go, oh, o-o-oh, to the late night double feature picture show.

By R.K.O, oh o-o-oh

To the late night double feature picture show.

In the back row, oh o-o-oh

To the late night double feature picture show…”

-“Science fiction-Double feature”, Richard O' Brien