OK, first of all...My apologies for letting this story kind of...fizzle out...

No, I am actually not writing again-YET.

But this is everything I've written in the past...whenever it was I last updated. As lengthy as this is, it's not the entire chapter, but as I've been SORT of writing fiction again, (college has done a number on me) I felt I owed it to any fans still lingering about to get to read the next chunk of the story.

I DO want to finish this story, I really do. Part of that relies on how much support I can get.

Anyway, here's the first part of the Chapter. When (or if) I finish the chapter, I will post the rest as another Chapter.

-Begin Transmission-

Winds of Fate: The X Factor

Chapter 17- Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Dead. Dark. Quiet. Frightfully quiet. It was ten in the morning, and the tower felt like a morgue—bodies resting in peace in their coffins throughout. After a frustrating defeat, the Titans had slunk back to their home, defeated, dejected, and aching. The aching part was emphasized, as Metal Mario had proved to be quite a tricky opponent, being Mario's polar opposite and all. Everyone had turned out fine, which was a relief—well, fine being defined as 'not dead,' anyway. The more Raven dwelled on the matter, the higher her regret rose—Amy could've been killed, and she could've stopped it. Mario had assured her that there was nothing she could have done, but she wasn't so sure she believed him. What did he know, anyway? He was some pizza waiter…that happened to be able to move like a ninja…and shoot fire from his hands…and, well, jump stories high in a single bound…OK, so he was a superhero, too. And, well, sure, MAYBE he just happened to understand this villain a little better than she did. But that still didn't give him the right to tell her she couldn't have helped. Had Raven seen Mario running around on the ceiling, shooting flaming bullets from his fingers, and swinging his fists and feet with a furious wrath unmatched by any of the other Titans within the tower, Raven might not have thought this way. However, she HADN'T seen those things. So, she was allowed to have her biased opinion, one could conclude.

Robin certainly seemed to have his own opinion on things lately, and expressed it with blatant disregard to anyone else's feelings. At least, that's how Raven felt about it, being a teenager with just as many hormonal imbalances as he, if not more. Superpowers plus adolescent hormones equaled an emotionally unstable explosion waiting to happen. Raven was a little worried that all of this unhinged tension would soon crumble the tower apart from the base. Crumble wasn't the right word, though—more like...spontaneously combust. Much better. Then again, it didn't matter how it was phrased—if something wasn't done, the team could be proper fucked, from the inside out. With adamant resolve, Raven was determined to do one of two things today: force Robin and Starfire to sit and discuss their differences, whether she had to duct tape them to chairs or not, OR, just do things the old-fashioned way by taking Robin outside and beating the shit out of him. Perhaps the second approach was a bit too forthright? Nah. He deserved it.

Eager to open a can of whup-ass on her own leader, Raven had started the day before anyone else had, her stomach growling for breakfast, and her rebellious attitude seeking some relief. She had decided to do what she always liked to do in the morning: drift through the tower in a drowsy stupor and fetch the mail.

SOMONE had to wake up at a decent hour if they going to pass themselves off as a team of superheroes, right? Of course! How could you pass yourself off as a team of crime-busting icons if everyone slept in? Did Batman sleep in? Um, NO, he didn't. That was one thing that made him Batman. Then again…he was…BATMAN…and they were…TEENAGERS…Hmm…No, no. Someone still had to wake up before noon, at least, if only to make tax-payers happy. Raven had decided that she could do without some sleep today, anyway—it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, especially since she wasn't able to get much of it that night. Something had kept jabbing at her brain like a little kid constantly asking her questions. Only, they weren't questions like, "Where do babies come from?" or "How does Santa get around the world so fast?" No, no…They were questions like, "Why is Robin being such an asshole?" "How have I changed so much?" "Why has STARFIRE changed so much?" "What can I do to end this shit?" But there was one that sort of lay entrenched in the back of her head all night, like some stubborn, old dog—it'd stay hidden in its doghouse, come out, crap, and go back in. Yea, that's what it felt like—having dog crap dumped in her cerebral cortex every here and there. And this wasn't any dog crap, either. We're talkin' about a friggin' Great Dane dump. Mm-hm. And every foot-tall dump in her head, sprawled across her brain like a minefield now, had a question written on it: "What if Starfire leaves?"

Over and over and over and over, and a few extra times, for good measure, she asked herself that question. It kept coming back and back, for reasons she couldn't determine, but she'd always ignore it, if only because she really didn't want to answer that question. Nope. Wasn't gonna even ponder the possibility, because Starfire would never be that stupid. Getting plastered on one-hundred-proof berry juice from another planet, stalking around in one of Raven's cloaks, and muttering insults in drunken Tamaranian…She could distinctly remember her saying something that sounded vaguely like, "Tomato-crank-blogged-the-frothy-worm," but…Anyway, Starfire would never do something like that.

And, you know, it was the damnedest thing: she HAD.

And Raven would never, in a million years, smile at will, express her emotions openly, get jealous over a boy, apologize for getting jealous over a boy, get her hair braided, let an absent-minded girl read her books, wear a lavender hoodie and blue sneakers, cry openly in front of her roommates, or show so much concern for the well-being of her friends. And she would certainly not let them know how much she appreciated them.

Heheh. Yea, damnedest thing: she HAD.

So, with questions crawling around her brain and burrowing tunnels in it like ants, she journeyed forth to retrieve yonder post. The newspaper would help her flex that brain into doing something besides worrying. Yea, it'd get a nice, good ol' workout doing bench-presses with the word search and pull-ups on a crossword puzzle.

After a while of drifting through the bleak, dreary hallway, Raven was growing nervous from all the silence. It wasn't natural—not in this place. This deadly silence reminded her of her past, and she avoided that like a plague, which, more or less, it was. This eerie tranquility reminded her of who she used to be, and who she didn't want to be anymore—floating around in nothingness to erase her emotions. It was like a nightmare she just couldn't shake off. Reaching the front door of the tower, Raven was relieved that her mind could be averted to different matters. The mail: that would clear her head, refresh her mood, and give her something to distract her doubt. If her brain was, in fact, like some old dog, then the newspaper would be like a big, juicy steak for it.

Raven finally reached the defining moment of her journey: the mailbox. Only, it wasn't really a box, per say, but more like a compartment in front of the building. Letters and the like were sent through an intricate tubing system that ran from a local post office to this small area embedded in the front wall of the tower. Not only did this take away the long walk up the 'driveway' to the mailbox, it saved a mailman one hell of a trip. Ah, laziness—what was federal funding for?

Like a zombie, Raven scooped up the mail that had arrived earlier that morning, clawing at it with sluggish motions. Wow. She didn't realize she was this tired. Grr. Geh. Come on…There we go. Dumb fingers, they didn't want to exert the pathetic force required to pick up the cursed paper, but she managed. Sure, sure, powers, magic, blabla—but she had to stop using them all the time, or she'd have her limbs lost from atrophy.

There wasn't much that morning: two letters, and the newspaper. But, oh, the newspaper! Yum. Crossword puzzles, here she came. With a small cup of tea levitating beside her (it had been following her like a little kitten), she held the mail in her underarm and rubbed sand from her eyes as she plopped down at a coffee table nearby, settling into the slightly uncomfortable chair of gray. Couldn't they afford better chairs? They had this complex system for sending mail, but their chairs sucked royal. What the hell? And damn, was she in the mood for cursing up a storm this morning. That didn't happen too much, did it? Oh, hell, what did she care? She was pissed, and that was all there to it. Getting two hours of sleep out of fourty-eight…not so good. Gah, maybe that was over exaggerating a little…OK, OK, it was more like six out of forty-eight. STILL…that was just…not so good at all.

She used her powers to slowly set the objects she had carried on the table before her, giving her the opportunity to stretch and yawn a lion's yawn. Whoa, was she tired. Why was she out of bed, again? Oh, right…Because for some damned reason, she'd decided to be 'noble' and wake up before everyone else. She wasn't even sure if she'd be able to make breakfast properly, especially in such a lethargic state. Ah, screw breakfast. She'd let Cyborg or Luigi do that. Besides, she wasn't a terribly good chef as it was. That, and she was way too grouchy to eat.

The first of the two letters was from none other than Bruce Wayne, the wealthy man that owned the building the Titans had tried to keep secure the night before. Bruce Wayne…had they met? No, she didn't recall meeting him in person. But damn, was he cute. He had ripped arms, and strong, adept hands, not to mention his marvelous chin and intense eyes. Whoo! Chills just thinking about that—yea, waking up a little bit now.

But, Raven wasn't sure whether she should open this letter or not for the moment, and quickly decided that Robin would throw some kind of fit if she did. Sure, it'd be a serious, solemn fit, but she didn't want to deal with it right now, because she'd probably kick him in the crotch. The second letter, however, had no return address on it, and Raven found this quite suspicious. Curiosity took over, and she concluded that waking up at this unholy hour entitled her to open it. Of course it did. She had to get SOMETHING out of thus crappy deal. Now all she had to do was get the letter out of the envelope.

Uuugghhh…

Yep. Any second now…yea. Gonna just…open the letter, and get on with the day. Uh-huh. Yea. All right. Here we go…

(Why am I awake, again? Like, right now? Why? How did I get forced into this? And why do I continue to stay awake?)

She shouldn't be using her powers so much, because she really needed some more physical exercise these days. But, damn, did she not give a crap about that at ALL anymore. Waving her arm with what little energy was in it, she ripped the envelope open with her powers, causing a flash of light to engulf the paper as it was neatly torn. A small note floated out with grace, and Raven grasped it in her hands as she scanned the typed words.

"WE'RE WATCHING YOU."

That was it. That was all it said. Something about those three simple words gave Raven a terrible chill that rushed down her spine. Well, she was awake, now, for sure. Disturbed—very disturbed—but awake. She dropped the letter to the small coffee table as if it were infected, and stared at it for a few seconds. Dirty, nasty, infected paper, it was, and if she stared at it any longer, she'd start to think horrible thoughts of snipers sitting upon the structures of the big bridge that passed over the bay behind their tower, aiming their rifles at their heads. They'd walk outside, then BLAM! Her mind now unstable and uneasy, she grabbed the newspaper, now hoping to drown the unnerving tingling sensation in her head that had replaced the shaky doubt. Groping for the paper, she groaned, and decided to do things the lazy way yet again. It wasn't even a decision at this point, so much as an instinct. The sharp-colored, crisp set of papers hovered before her, a thin layer of white encasing it. The paper unfolded itself neatly, revealing the front.

Raven stared at the first page for a few moments with wide eyes, immediately captured by the headline: "Mutant Thief Outsmarts Titans." She had quickly jumped from the words to the photograph printed below it, as that was the thing that really caught her attention. This wasn't a steak to feed that old dog in her brain—this was a friggin' dog catcher, only he used a shotgun instead of a net. She couldn't remove her gaze from that photo, captivated by the raw image of desperation it portrayed. It didn't make any sense…No. That wasn't right. Of course it wasn't right. It was impossible. Yes. That couldn't be Starfire, because Starfire was upstairs in her room, and she had been there all night, and the entire day before that…Right?

Damnedest thing…

The newspaper flew through the stiff morning air, falling apart as it drifted to the floor in a disheveled pile of black and white.

Dead. Dark. Quiet. Frightfully quiet. That's what the tower had been for some time, until Raven came tearing through walls like a missile, murmuring words inaudible to those around her. Upon hearing the conversation she had with herself, most would question her social skills and deem her unfit to live a 'normal' life. During the course of the thirty seconds it took the Titan to rocket herself from the front door of the tower to Starfire's bedroom, she rambled to herself constantly. The word 'no' seemed to pop up dreadfully often in this exchange of dialogue. It wasn't so much of an exchange of words—rather, it was a petrified release. The phrase 'she wouldn't' was moaned rather often, as well, but 'no' was most definitely the favorite.

"No…No, no, no…She wouldn't…No. How could she? WHY? No, no, she WOULDN'T…"

The words, packed with dissatisfaction, seemed to keep coming and coming, like an automated assembly line processing cheese. There was no thought put into them—they just came flying out with by bizarre, mechanical instinct as Raven struggled to rationalize the events that had transpired the day before. Clicking all the pieces together was incredibly difficult when some pieces were missing—making sense of the incomplete puzzle was even more tedious. Like a computer scanning for files that weren't on its hard drive, Raven kept trying to explain to herself what had happened and why.

Scanning drive for required files: System error.

Scanning drive for required files: System error.

Scanning drive for required files: System error.

The process repeated itself a seemingly infinite number of times over those thirty seconds, which was quite feasible when taking into consideration the fact that the average brain can make millions of calculations within that time span. And then, in the instant when she reached Starfire's door, everything finally froze up.

File does not exist.

It took a few seconds, but Raven managed to convince herself that there was an explanation—she just didn't know everything yet. For all she knew, Starfire was still in her room. Yes, of course. How could she jump to conclusions like that? Starfire would still be in her room, craving love and support, and Raven would flood her with it forever and ever until everything was all better, and then they'd go have some Fairy Perry's ice cream. Her mind deluded with fabricated hopes, Raven didn't think to enter the door with her powers—she entered the access code as she remembered it: 07734. The cold, steel door slid open with the fluid grace of a toaster popping out toast, and Raven dashed in like a member of a SWAT team, inspecting every corner of the dark chamber with methodical movements.

Opening …

…

The required data could not be found.

This file appears to be damaged.

System Error.

The systematic search for life computed an end result: there was a .03 percent chance that Starfire was in the room. The .03 percent could be reached by taking into account the slight possibility of her body having been burned to ashes, thus serving as fertilizer for the potted Whapzar Ingerblot that was sitting on Starfire's dresser. Though a horribly common breed of Ingerblot, the Whapzar was adorable, nonetheless, with its bitty little razor teeth and bloodshot eyeball. However, Raven concluded that the scenario of Starfire hiding within the potted soil of this plant was very, very unlikely, if not slightly questionable.

Other rooms. She could be in another room. She could be ANYWHERE in the tower, and anywhere was a pretty big place to look. However, before her panic could fuel another search, there was something—a few somethings—on Starfire's tidy, inviting bed that grabbed her attention, held it in a chokehold, then hogtied it and kicked it for good measure. A blue cloak, creased into a rectangle, a purple CD in a clear case, and a folded up square of paper with the word, 'Raven' scribbled in cursive upon its crinkled surface-these three items were each inspected with the care and curiosity of a scientist, though Raven hardly touched them. She didn't need to even read the letter to have confirmation that Starfire was no longer residing in Titan Tower.

It was at this moment that Raven's core processor kind of sputtered and choked, and every little component of her reality was sucked into a standstill moment of tense silence. Programs were being shut down all over the place, until an abrupt message popped onto the computer screen of her brain. It read as follows:

Flagrant System Error.

Computer over.

Virus very yes.

There was an unmeasured period of time—perhaps five seconds, perhaps five minutes—when Raven was oblivious to the world around her as she had her systems reboot. She found herself in a daze, sprawled over Starfire's bed, her legs dangling over the edge. She moaned and sat up, regaining her bearings as quickly as possible.

Describing exactly what went through her mind at that point would be very difficult, but could be summed up by explaining the throbbing pulses of anguish that coursed through her in waves, the jolts of guilt and self-hatred that steadily shocked her like a stun gun, and the frustration and regret that clung to every cranny of her frontal lobes.

Fierce claws of desperation clutched her heart tightly, threatening to squeeze it like a balloon until it popped, but they were soon driven away by a little crow—a four-eyed, sinister-looking crow. This monstrosity was given good company as about thirty more of its feathered, red-eyed brethren erupted from Raven's cerebellum. They began to prance all over her poor, battered brain, chanting like savage natives around a bonfire.

Robin. Robin. Robin.

"Robin…Robin! ROBIN!"

A disinclining groan spilled from the young man's mouth as he turned in his bed like a bear trying to hide from spring. His mind wasn't awake enough to send the message to his arms to reach out and whack the metallic man who glowered down at him with dulled annoyance. However, Robin's brain did make an attempt, which resulted in his arm flopping over the side of the bed and hanging limp afterward.

"It's eleven in the morning, Rob," Cyborg grumbled, pinching Robin's shoulder with his hand and mechanically lifting him onto his feet, a distasteful glaze over his eye. "Come on, man, get up."

Robin's legs instinctively held him up in place, though this wasn't saying much. His mind was as clear as tomato soup as his eyelids were gradually lifted up high enough to kind of make out the fuzzy Cyborg that towered over him. He attempted to speak, but nothing discernable came out. Whatever he had lazily pushed out of his lips, it hadn't been words, that was for sure. Cyborg jolted the barely conscious boy, jerking him back and forth a few times by the shoulders. So much for him being the early bird…

"Mmmeh?" he drooled out. It wasn't translatable, but it was at least SOME kind of speech—a step in the right direction, if anything. Cyborg's partially robotic mouth let a wholly human sigh of impatience spill into the rusty morning air of Robin's bed room.

"Yo, Robin," he spoke, his tone as soft as concrete. "When you're awake, come downstairs, a'ight?" There was a dim-witted pause, then a couple of slow, thoughtless blinks, and Cyborg threw in the towel. Tossing his arms in the air in a swift and apathetic motion, he groaned irritably.

Leaving the Titan leader to his own devices (which were more like primitive tools than devices at the time), Cyborg exited the room with the same casual air that he had entered, and went straight down the hall to his own room. By now, he was sure that everyone was awake, besides Robin, of course.

Although…Raven hadn't been in her room when he checked. But, then again, there hadn't been any signs of Star being in HER room, either. This wasn't peculiar, really. Yea, Raven had probably managed to get Starfire out and had taken her off somewhere. At least Star hadn't had to go through all of the crap from last night…Which reminded him: his main man Mario had some explaining to do. He had a LOT of explaining to do. The next thing he knew, that guy would be goin' all ninja, doin' all that ninjutsu crap—kung fu, duplicatin' himself, doin' that disappear-get-replaced-by-a-log thing…Where did he learn to do that stuff, anyway? Cyborg had a very funny feeling that Mario knew very well what was going on concerning his friends, and whatever it was, it was a lot bigger than Slade—it wasn't natural.

He opened the door to his room after sticking him palm to the sensor on the wall and sending in code through his fingertips. It slowly slid open, and he couldn't help but yawn as she trudged in. His eyes opened just in the nick of time to detect the skinny little witch with pink hair whom he had almost yawned right into. She didn't look terribly pleased, either. No, she was definitely bored, he could tell. There was a brief moment of silence as the door closed, and they stared at each other for a moment in a far from comfortable silence.

"I'm going out today," Jinx announced with bold nonchalance. She inspected her nails afterward, making sure they weren't damaged in any way. She figured that she should probably ensure that her appearance as a whole was decent enough, because she wouldn't want to go out in public without looking as good as she could. She was doing her best to look perfectly casual and in control, but Cyborg knew better. Jinx was bluffing her ass off—though he would compliment that it was a moderately cute ass, at that. The point of the matter was that she was hoping he'd help her get out and back in within being spotted. She had to get some air today, and being stuck in this room for a few days straight (aside from last night) had not been very fun. Oh, well, sure, she'd been escorted to the restroom during that period when need be, but that didn't really count, now, did it?

Cyborg had trouble holding back a hearty chuckle. Though her air was arrogant and calm, he knew that deep down, her remark wasn't an announcement, but a plea. She wanted to leave the tower, but something—maybe his scanners picked it up, or maybe his intuition did—whispered to him that she wanted to come back in when she was done having her fun. Ah, what the hell? Couldn't hurt, right? She was a cute little witch, and she had bared with him this far…She deserved some time to herself.

Things would have to handled quite delicately, however—wouldn't want Rob finding out about this. Ahhh—no. That'd be quite unpleasant. Hm…Better to get this out of the way now while it was early and the Titans were still lethargic.

There were a few moments of awkward tranquility as Cyborg's processors analyzed the situation, and Jinx could feel her intestines wrap around her stomach, squeezing it into submission. She had to get the hell out of this tower for a while, or she'd go insane. Moreover, she could feel queasy pulses of misfortune tingling through her body—her powers, which she had managed to keep under control for the past while, were itching to bring some bad luck to the world around her.

"A'ight."

Wh-? That was all? What was the catch…?

Jinx's feline eyes narrowed at him, and she latched a hand on her hip, shifting her light weight a little to the side. Cyborg pitied those sharp, yellow eyes. They cut through his steel body and circuitry, piercing straight into his heart. They were resentful, doubtful, afraid…This girl had never known was true security was. There was always something that prevented it. Cyborg could only guess what factors would prevent her from knowing what safety was, but those eyes—those chilling retinas that questioned his integrity—they made sure he knew how much the girl really didn't understand. She was a broken wretch of a woman, and Cyborg wanted to change that with every watt, volt, and ampere within him.

"C'mon."

With that one word—clean, simple, and understanding in nature—Cyborg grabbed Jinx's tiny, fragile hand in his goliath palm and dragged her out of the room. Giving the halls a quick check before he pulled her out, the bionic man made brisk steps toward the elevator at the end of the hall. Jinx gasped when a couple of small satellites of differing design cropped out of the broad, strong shoulders of titanium that supported his fierce, bold head. She found them to be rather adorable, spinning in happy little circles. Bleck. Where did THAT come from? But whether he was a robotic man or not, at least he was a big, strong…machismo-filled man...who had a sculpted face that drew her in—like a tuna to a fisherman's net. She flopped and flapped, but no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn't escape.

There was something else about him that really turned her on: he was genuinely…nice. He actually cared about people, and it was hot with an extra 't.' Ermm…Not that she was going to tell anyone that, of course.

Besides, what the hell did she care if…HE cared? If he was going to be all nice and go out of his way to help her, risking his reputation and putting his loyalty on the line, going through so much trouble to sneak her out and in and such…why should she care, right? It was his choice, just as it was her choice to take advantage of it.

Why, then, did she NOT want to take advantage of the situation? Urgh, stupid…What was the word? Conscience? That was close enough, anyway. Damnit, what was with this 'conscience' crap? She didn't like it at first, but it wasn't showing any signs of going away—it had already unpacked its bags, thrown its laundry in the washer, and put its clothes in the closet. This 'conscience' was here to stay, and she'd have to suck it up and deal.

"When're you comin' back?"

Hm? What? Oh, hey—fresh air! Holy fuck, was that stuff so nice…

Jinx couldn't help but take a moment to suck the precious gases in. It had been some time since she'd tasted it. A hint of damp salt filled her nostrils as waves were pushed by the brisk wind, crashing into the shores and spraying their contents into the air—that tasty, irresistible air. Yum, yum.

"Uhhhh…Yo, Jinx," Cyborg tapped her bony little shoulder with a single finger—a chunky, sturdy finger.

Jinx's relief was jolted so much that it was scared back into the little hole it had crawled out of, and her attitude took the reigns again.

"When did I say I was coming back?" she retorted with a spicy smirk.

Cyborg kept his cool, immune to her sass. He knew fully well that she intended to return, as she had no where else to go. With a calm shrug, Cyborg turned his back and said to her, "All right. Guess we'll meet up the next time you rob a jewelry store, an—"

"Eight o'clock," Jinx spat out in a rush as Cyborg opened the gigantic doors to his home.

Cyborg glanced over his shoulder with his black, nonchalant eye. There was a pause, then: "'K. Whatever. See you then."

Sweeeeeeoooosshh. Gone.

Part of Jinx didn't want to leave that big ol' 'T.' She was sure it would grow on her…Whoa, whoa, wait. What? Geh, she had to stop thinking like that. Titan Tower was NOT her home.

But…as she stared up at it, and remembered all those things she had seen the night before…she realized that she wanted it to be.

"Ohhhh…This isn't riiiiight…"

An incredibly frustrated huff spilled from the little girl's mouth as she pouted in spite of herself. This wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. She'd been wandering around for hours, tirelessly trudging from dimension to dimension. It got quite exhausting after a while, and she was getting REALLY hungry. Of course, when you were little, being hungry was a matter of life and death. The world screeched to a halt when you couldn't do exactly what you wanted to do, and five minutes felt like a week.

The girl was tempted to throw a tantrum, but somehow managed to dig up some self-control from within her tiny (and empty) gut, but it was burned up pretty quickly. She had to get to this place really soon…Hm…Maybe that buck-toothed kid with the cape could help her out?

He was a chubby, short fellow with big eyes, a bulbous head, and large, goofy front teeth that poked out of his mouth. He wore a cape of yellow and black, and was dressed altogether to the likeness of a certain Teen Titan—not that Sideris could recognize this. His legs were hardly noticeable, and his arms were tiny, too, but, at the time, his right index finger was, to be put bluntly, freaking huge. Sideris could overlook the teeth, and the other things, but the FINGER…It kinda SCARED her. The boy was waving his finger around in the air—well, actually, it wasn't air, but could be better described as time-space, or something to that extent. After observing the boy for a moment, Sideris was enthralled to see a small puppy scribbled into existence. Then again, maybe it wasn't really a puppy. It was so sketchy and deformed, one would have some difficulty describing what, precisely, it was. As far as Sideris was concerned, it was a puppy—a green-lined, clear puppy with black, crayon-esque eyes. It was cute.

A childish laugh that border-lined maniacal boomed from the boy as he twirled through the air, celebrating the 'birth' of his new creation. Suddenly, he noticed the girl that was watching him with confused eyes of emerald. He froze in mid flip, staring at her puzzled expression with one to match, hanging upside down. There was a calm, curious silence between them, until Sideris mumbled out a question, her face flushed red.

"Umm…Could you help me…?"

"Nosyarg Kcid helps everyone!" Declared the boy with confidence that was as bright and bold as the sun itself. He rapidly spun his body like a top, then bolted to the girl's side, smiling a goofy smile mere inches from her face. Her neck craned back a little, and she couldn't help but grin at his humorous attitude.

"Nozzyerr…what?" she mumbled, clogging her laughs with a cork of solemnity.

"NOZZ-YAHRG-KIHD!" the bizarre boy pressed, slamming the girl with slow, harsh syllables.

The girl twirled her bitty finger through her springy, crimson ponytail for a moment as she mumbled, "I'm Sideris…"

Nosyarg, with more enthusiasm than was healthy, perhaps, grabbed Sideris' left arm, which was otherwise unoccupied, and jolted it up and down in quick, pumping motions, a piston of merriment.

"Great!" he squealed. "So, what's the problem? Nosyarg can help!"

"Nozz…yer…" Sideris' brain fizzled out at the mere thought of pronouncing the title of this being beyond her mind, which was already stretched thin, carrying weights beyond its normal limit. "Can I…just call you…Yoshi, or something…?"

Nosyarg chuckled and lifted his gargantuan index finger to the small 'R' printed on his chest, changing the stitched emblem to a 'Y.'

"Sure! Yoshi it is!" Another giddy, overexerted laugh poured into Sideris' ears, though one may wonder how sound was traveling when there was no air to be vibrated. Nosyarg, under his new alias, began to prance about in all manner of random celebration, proclaiming his new nickname to all who would listen—'all' being one little girl, of course.

However, Sideris wasn't in the mood to put up with what she anticipated would be a long, drawn out babble of pointlessness. Being of the same nature as Nosyarg, she had a VERY thin patience, and by the time the third 'Yoshi' had battered her eardrums, she was bored and irritated.

She groaned and lifted her arms, trying to settle 'Yoshi' down, who was bounding around like a pinball, smacking into everything around in chaotic fashion. The multi-colored doors that littered this strange place were smashed by his rubbery body, and the poor little 'dog' that he had drawn earlier was shattered as he rolled through it like a grinning bowling ball. What little it had for a body was ripped to shreds that were forced outward, but continued to drift, onward and outward, as if no gravity held them down.

Sideris' arms dropped in a slouchy fit to her sides, and she pouted irritably, crossing the arms over her chest. Just when she didn't expect it, her body was slammed from behind, causing her to go tumbling forward onto her face, her arms unable to react quickly enough to save her. She whimpered out in melodramatic agony for a few moments, lifting her short, thin body from the 'ground,' a slow and painful process.

"What was that for?" she growled out with blunt indignity.

"Oops," Nosyarg ('Yoshi') mumbled meekly, rubbing the back of his neck in shy regret.

Sideris noticed his nonverbal apology was genuine, and felt foolish for inflating the mishap. She had places to go, things to do…She didn't have time to play with this guy.

"Um…Anyway, could you help me, please? I'm in a hurry." The mumbled words slipped from her mouth with a grease-like quality.

"What's wrong?" the recently 're-named' boy pondered.

"I need to find the Teen Titans…" Sideris murmured with doubt, glanced at the multitude of doors around her, all of varying colors, sizes, and textures.

Yoshi chuckled and slapped his knee. "Which ONES?" he asked incredulously, bouncing about on his bottom, which seemed to act like pair of rubber cheeks.

"Um…" Sideris felt her intestines constrict her kidneys at the remark. A worst-case scenario popped into her brain: 'I won't be able to find them now.'

"I gotta know more about which ones we're lookin' for," Yoshi explained, waving his mystical finger through the air to draw a small rectangle. The shape took the form of a clipboard, and Yoshi summoned a purple crayon from his wrist like before. He prepared to scribble down an outline, and Sideris proceeded to fumble for details.

"Mmm…There are…12 of them…Aaaand…one of them is named Mario…"

Yoshi nodded quickly, jotting his scrawled notes down in haphazard form. Anyone else attempting to comprehend what he wrote would find no sense in his doodling, but he could understand it perfectly, apparently.

"Mario, huh?" he muttered, amused. After staring at what little he had to go by thus far, he nodded in agreement with his own hunch and carelessly chucked the board and the crayon off. Instead of falling, they continued to float off. "Ohhh! I know what YOU'RE lookin' for!" he slyly snickered, drifting into the air as casually as one stands up. "I saw it around here…" He ominously floated through the seizure-inducing avenue of portals to a small green door with a yellow 'R' painted on it. Yoshi paused before it and contemplated for a moment. Sideris jogged in pursuit, and came to a halt as abruptly as he had. Puzzled and inquisitive as to the location of her destination, she waited patiently.

Yoshi nodded to himself and lunged out at the door, but, to Sideris' surprise, he fly AROUND it. Wait, what? Where was he going?

With a grunt, the young girl blew her bright red bangs up and sprinted off between the green door and one of its neighbors. She skidded to a screeching halt when she realized that Yoshi had stopped just behind the portal and was staring it from behind—there was another door. Only, this other door…WAS the door. But on this side, the letter 'X' was painted in a sloppy red.

"It's here, it's here!" Yoshi exclaimed with joy, clapping his hands together repeatedly. "Come on!" He dashed to Sideris and snatched her by her fragile arm, tugging at her to follow him. Before she knew it, he'd swung the door open and had flung them both into it.

"Come ON!" Beastboy groaned with insipid disgust. "Why SAUSAGE?" He glared at the steaming, hot, juicy cylinders of meat undergoing the process he often referred to as 'cookification.' Discouraged by Tenochtitlan's glowing eyes, he sighed at the expression, her hunger portrayed in a burning yellow.

"It smells so good…" Tenochtitlan murmured with anticipation, practically drooling over Luigi's shoulder.

"Thanks," the green-garbed chef replied with a grin, probing at them with care. "Just wait 'til you TASTE 'em…"

"I dunno, Bro.," Mario disagreed in good humor, tipping his cap up as he flipped a pancake with ninja-like skill—it twirled through the air like a ballerina, landing perfectly on the opposite side. "I'm thinkin' these pancakes are gonna rock the house."

"No way!" Cyborg protested, pouring his custom-made mix into a waffling iron. "They'll be talkin' about my waffles all day, man!"

"Oh, really?" Luigi quipped, his voice spiced with doubt.

"That so?" Mario countered alongside his unusually confident sibling.

"You bet!" Cyborg jeered, slapping the iron closed. The kitchen was alive with the sizzling of sausages on the frying pan, the fizzling of pancakes on the grittle, and the hissing of waffles being steamed into creation.

Dairy, dairy, dairy. Beastboy KNEW it. There wouldn't be a single thing there that was non-dairy. Or, well, meat. What the heck, dude? Did anyone ever take into account his diet? He shrugged it off as he noticed the hungry delight in Tenochtitlan's demeanor. At least she was happy, scavenger though she was.

A dull-eyed Link came strolling into the room with methodical movements, his hands nestled in the roomy pockets of his large pants. He didn't even seem to notice the cook-off going on around him, but it was clear he was here for food, as he headed straight to the fridge—no greetings, no gestures…Very typical.

Terra, who entered right beside him, beamed with excitement at the prospect of having a full-bodied meal. She grinned at the three Titan chefs, her hands on her hips, and she complimented on each one as she passed them by.

"Oh, man, those look so good!" she whispered in awe at the fleshy, darkened sausages, much to Luigi's satisfaction.

Link slowly opened up the fridge, ignoring the bustling morning sounds around him, and pulled a quart of milk out. He stared at it with dismay for a moment, disgusted at its genre of pasteurized goodness. Skim milk? What the hell? He double-checked the fridge, which was relatively empty. It was a very sad and gloomy fridge, with only a plastic container of week-old potato salad, a few cherry tomatoes, a nearly empty bottle of Dyspepsi Cola, and that half-filled quart of skim milk to keep it company. Oh, wait—there was a full carton of fresh eggs in the back. What a miracle THAT was…

"I can't wait to try those out," Terra told Mario with a giddy smile, her voice a bit distant.

Link suddenly wondered why the hell all of this cooking was going on when they didn't seem to have much to eat. Come to think of it, why hadn't anyone done the grocery shopping in so long? Some superheroes—couldn't even stay on top of the groceries…

In the background, Terra said to Cyborg, "Oh, I remember the last time you made THESE…" The fond memories crept into her taste buds, as if her brain willed her to taste them again.

With an insipid sigh that oozed apathy, Link dragged a glass from a cupboard nearby and tilted the carton of skim a bit, giving himself a glass half empty. With minimal effort, he slipped the carton back into the depressingly empty refrigerator and took a swig of the skim, its slim, tasteless texture scratching his tongue like claws on a chalkboard.

The room grew slightly quieter when Robin seemed to sneak in, his pace quick and eager. He waved the chefs good morning as he passed quietly by, and headed straight for the fridge. He was in a bigger rush than Link, and just by looking at their polar opposite faces, one could deduce that he was a in a very solemn mood. He retrieved the eggs that had been stored in the back, and made haste to the stove beside Luigi. Luigi had left a couple of the six burners free, and Robin placed a pan on each in a mechanical fashion.

"Good morning, Robin," Tenochtitlan greeted, her bright voice slightly shaken by his lack of emotion.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice as dry and rough as sandpaper.

Tenochtitlan grimaced and gave Beastboy a puzzled glance, but the green one gulped and answered her with a shrug. They sat down at the island near the counter where Link stood. As they planted their bottoms onto the red stools, Robin began cracking eggs and letting their contents drip into the teflon pans before him. The sizzling of the room turned up another small notch.

Terra almost greeted her leader, but decided not to on a gut choice, so she sat beside Beastboy's right at the island. She leaned over casually, her elbows supporting her.

"So, uh, you guys sleep well?"

A few minutes of dismally bland conversation commenced, and soon enough, Luigi began dropping his cooked meat upon plates, serving it up. Link passed the offer with a raised palm, and Luigi sighed the matter off. His loss.

Just as Link set his glass into the sink—he was amazed he had managed to down it—Mario went around the island, sliding pancakes onto the three plates available. After receiving words of thanks, he set the rest in the middle of the counter for the others. The immense stack he left was a tremendous sight to behold—there had to be a good twenty cakes atop one another, and they were large cakes, to boot.

Luigi had gone back to his cooking, but Mario had decided to head off for a small morning workout. He bid his fellows 'farewell,' and slowly disappeared down the hall, his fingers locked behind his neck, his elbows pointed out over his shoulders like a lazy but anxious kid.

After a few minutes, Mario entered the weight room, expecting it to be uninhabited. He was surprised, however, when he saw a thin-framed girl on her back doing bench presses. As he approached, he smiled in amusement, watching her struggle to lift the weights up with her skinny arms. Her face was oily, and sweat dripped from her slicked bangs of disheveled pink. In such a position, the fresh scar on her neck was easily noticeable. She grunted and groaned, forcing as much strength into her arms as she could, pushing and pushing upward. Her emerald eyes burned with determination—a determination that was distinctly reminiscent of the night before. When her arms were finally stretched out, she bared the pain, her entire body trembling. With an exasperated gasp, she let the barbells come crashing down onto the supporters above her, landing safely above her chest. With that 'clang,' she was done, and moaned out, rubbing her aching arms as she panted from the exertion.

"Ya let it come down slow—better for your arms." Mario chuckled at her and shook his head, which received a frustrated growl from below—like a child huffing at her parent.

Mario took a seat on a bench near the wall to Amy's right and scooped up a sturdy barbell, working out his biceps as he began his mechanical work. His arm moved like a slow piston—up, down, up, down—and Amy stared for a few moments in silence, almost hypnotized by the steady motion. She shook it off like a cat clinging to her back and slowly raised her body up from the padded bench. A slow, tired movement of her arm shifted over her forehead, collecting sweat and removing it. She shook some drops off of her wrist and took a deep sigh, glaring at Mario with rebellious discomfort. She couldn't see his eyes, though, as his head was tilted down, and his cap's brim cast a shadow over his brilliant eyes of blue.

Up…down…up…down.

His arm pumped with rhythmic force, and Amy watched the muscles in his arm contract and loosen. That cat was still clinging to her back, its claws stuck in her. Instead of shaking it off this time, she gently removed it.

"I'm sorry."

The words did not spill from her lips with ease like water from a bucket, but were released like molasses from a colander. The tensed arm that had been lifting weights froze for a moment, then slowly unwound, resting the barbell in its owner's lap. The opposite arm tipped the red cap up slightly, and Mario's sapphire eyes received Amy's hard, prickly glare.

"I should've thought things through before I acted like a dumb-shit…"

A nonchalant "heh" slipped into Amy's ears, and she watched that sly smirk form on his face.

"But you didn't think first," Mario concluded, his head tilting to the side in acknowledgement to his own comment.

Amy felt her insides bubble up with crude frustration, and she felt like digging her nails into a chalkboard. What the hell? Why the fuck did she even bother apologizing in the first place? She shouldn't have even—

"You didn't think because you can't control your anger, just as you can't right now."

This swift smack in her head paralyzed Amy, releasing her body from its tightened state. Her arms loosened, her clenched fists unwound, and her grit teeth were relieved. Something about those words had grabbed her brain and given it a good throw down. She couldn't place exactly why, but they had. Mario delivered a bit more prattling, shifting his weight to the other arm and repeating the pumping process with the left.

"You can't explain it, but you get pissed off really easily. Inside, you're angry all the time, at everything, and you don't know why."

The pink-haired girl couldn't look him straight in the eye as he said these words, averting her gaze to her red boots—they were loose boots of red with a white stripe running down the center. As she admired the white stripe, tapping the boots together with anxious impatience, Mario finished, amused by the reaction. He wasn't surprised, of course, but amused, nonetheless.

"Don't worry too much about it—it's no shocker, given your condition. But you've gotta learn to control it better. If you let that anger out at the right time, you're golden." He rolled his eyes as he struggled to look her in the face, but was only able to see slick bangs. "Hey—chin up."

Amy's face jolted up just enough so that her fierce gaze met his icy calm expression.

"It's no big, Rose. We've all got our problems, ya know." Mario finished his brief arm exercise and stretched his limbs out over his shoulders. In mid-groan, he added with nonchalance, "Maybe if you stopped looking so pissy all the time, you'd be a step ahead…You're cute when you're pissed, but you're cuter when you're kind."

Stupid ass-wipe. He thinks I'm pissy? Ohhh, I'm show him pissy. I'll shatter his jaw—

"It's all about attitude. If you dwell on your anger, that'll only make it worse."

Amy had been so lost in her own irate mind that she hadn't noticed how the capped one was now on his back on the floor, feet pinched beneath the bench he had been sitting on. With his arms tucked over his shoulders, he executed a smooth series of sit-ups, continuing the conversation with no thought of it.

"See, problem is, you have more natural anger in you right now than you're used to; that's ok. As long as you can harness it, like I said, it's all good. So get to work on it, eh?"

Amy forced back her pouting frown, maintaining a neutral—and very blank—stare. Was he telling her to go through anger management? Psh, whatever. What the hell did HE know, anyway? He acted all high and mighty, like he knew everything about her, but he didn't know shit. She oughtta kick his ass, and—

OK. Deep breath…all right. I'm NOT angry. I'm not angry. I can do this. I can DO this. 'More natural anger?' What did he mean by that? I mean, I DO feel like I'm more pissed off than I SHOULD be, but…Why is that? Damnit! He knows, doesn't he? Why isn't he telling me? Why is he being such an ass about it?

"Because it's what you need right now." That's what he'd tell her. Wait…isn't that what he just said? Like, out of the blue, just now? Her piercing eyes of green glared at him, emitting waves of doubt and suspicion.

Can you read my mind?

"When I want to…Sort of," he corrected in a mumble. "Kinda."

Why?

"Wish I knew. Been creepin' me the hell out lately."

Amy paused, her brain stirring the mush of ideas and thoughts around like mashed potatoes. They didn't turn out too fluffy when she was done—still plenty of chunkiness to it.

Do you know why we're here?

Mario, still as casual as ever, jumped to his feet and carelessly pumped out some jumping jacks. "I do," he replied to Amy's pondering, leaving it to dry like a raisin.

"WHY?" Amy growled out impatiently.

Mario's routine sputtered to a halt, a wind up toy whose key was reaching the end of its cycle. When he finally was still, his rough thumb flicked the brim of his cap up an inch, and like a man of the ol' west, he leaned against the wall behind him, arms thoughtfully crossed over his chest.

"You really wanna know, huh?" he murmured, his left brow creaking up a couple centimeters. His eyes twinkled with mystery, alluring Amy's head to nod. She bobbed her head with care, however, almost afraid at what answers may await her.

The tension in Mario's smirk sealed it for her, and nagged at her patience all the more, reeling her in. How did he know about all of this? Once she got an answer about the cause of this whole mess, she could finally get down to—

"Don't feel like tellin' you just yet."

Amy's mind was shattered, and shrapnel was careening out in all directions.

"…Excuse me?" she hissed out, eyes narrowing. Oh, hell no. He wasn't gonna get off that easy. If he didn't explain to her what he knew, she was gonna castrate him, and then—

"See what I mean?" Mario calmly pointed out, tapping his index finger at her forehead while she snarled. "Gotta work on that anger issue. We don't want another situation like last night, now, do we?" A condescending glance was all Amy needed to calm down. She ran her fingers across the inch-long scar on her neck and was drawn back to that moment the night before.

"A true warrior fights with his mind, heart, and body—not just his fists or his sword," Mario muttered with a pensive nod, shoving his hands into his gaping pockets.

"Yea…" Amy admitted in a forced grumble.

Damnit! I'm getting showed up by a loony dressed up like a plumber…Then again…maybe I'm the loony…

Her self-doubt was interrupted by a slap on her back that eased her to her feet.

"You got two of those three aced," he commented. "Now you need to work on the third one." He grinned as he jabbed his finger into her head. She shoved it away, a small smile sliding into her expression.

"You eaten breakfast yet?"

"No."

"Well you should, 'cuz you need to make sure the guys know my pancakes are the best."

The air was fresh and cool, the spices of autumn drifting through her nostrils and tickling her soul. Oh, man, did it feel so good! After being cooped up in a dark room full of computers for so long, this was a brisk refreshment. And it was so different, going outside just…to go outside. She wasn't out on a mission to steal anything…she wasn't worrying about making sure things ran smoothly…She was just here to enjoy here.

The wooden bench was a bit hard against her bony body, but she was enjoying the atmosphere too much to notice.

The sky was a pale palette of bluish gray in the early afternoon, and the sun was up in the sky, not glaring down, but drearily staring. Jynx caught a glance of a flock of geese rising from a brief break at the pond in the distance. They ascended from the pool in a flurry, spraying feathers in their wake, and soon enough, they were ordered into their mighty formation.

The sound of a dog's bark yanked her gaze from the birds to a small pug, it's face wrinkled up in disgust…or maybe it was just wrinkled up already. Jynx couldn't tell, and she didn't care for dogs at all. Based on the discriminating growl and judicious glare she was receiving from the mutt, Jynx concluded that this dog didn't care much for her, either.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, lashing around the grouchy dog's neck like a lasso. It remained transfixed on Jynx, dead-set on ensuring that she knew how pathetic she was. With a disdained snort and a stiff growl, it trotted off, leaving puddles of pride in its footsteps.

Mere seconds after the mongrel was gone, Jynx's attention was jerked in another direction as the cries of children chimed in her ears. They came in a group of three—none older than seven.

The first was slightly taller than the other two, with spiked maple hair and sharp, eager blue eyes. He had a defiant grin that radiated mischief. The second child was a girl, slightly shorter than the 'leader,' pointed pigtails of orange, and olive eyes of ferocity. Though her demeanor hid it, those eyes and her equally sneaky smile conveyed the same glow of tomfoolery as her ally. The third child looked a little younger—he had to be about five. His shy, glazed eyes observed the world around him with timid alarm; he wondered if that shaking leaf would fall on him, or if those flying birds would be a threat, or if that pug near the pond was mean. He kept a balloon at his side, squeezing its string like a lifeline and keeping it pressed to his chest, as if to make sure none would so much as tarnish its shiny, blue surface.

They were all running in single file, chasing after a soccer ball that their 'leader' was hording in his grubby paws.

"Cheater! Cheater!" cried the girl, sprinting after him with arms stretched out to catch the boy. Her words were playful and bubbled with giggles.

"Wait! Wait!" whimpered the frail child playing caboose, his balloon drifting behind, bobbing about haphazardly.

The frenzy was cut short as the leader tripped on his untied shoelace. He flailed like a fish out of water as he plummeted to the ground, and the girl behind him shrieked as she fell over him. Both landed flat on their faces in the grass, and the soccer ball popped out from under them. It playfully rolled its way across the grass, and lightly tapped against Jynx's left boot. She bent over and scooped it up, and a faint memory of her childhood washed over her and left as quickly as it came.

Jynx's insides were sloshing around inside her, rocking back and forth in an unsettling fashion. As the children scrambled to their feet and rushed her way, she almost felt like throwing up for a moment. The kids came to an abrupt stop, a few feet in front of her. A bad omen washed over her mind—she knew this feeling from somewhere.

No, not right now…Why right now?

"Um…Hi, Miss…"

The words of the feisty child leader slapped her and brought her attention back to the reality laid in front of her. Those three small children stared at her blank expression with an expectant stare for a moment of awkward silence before Jynx's brain wandered off yet again.

They were so…cute and innocent. Playful, mischievous, and curious. And they wanted their ball back.

"Please? Miss?" The girl clasped her hands together in a coy plea.

"Oh, um…" Jynx fumbled with the ball in a clumsy manner, embarrassed by her own thoughts. Her fingers were tingling, a shiver ran down her spine, and a shock of pain went through her head as she stretched out her arm to hand it to the child—pop.

Wait…pop?

Three pairs of horrified little eyes stared at the black and white lump in her hands. The ex-soccer ball that rested between her skinny fingers had practically been shredded in half. It had started. Why did this have to happen now?

Pop!

The smallest child screamed in terror as a gunshot rang through his air when his blue balloon exploded. Afterward, his fear and grief congealed into a shrieking cry, tears gushing from his eyes. As the girl went to comfort him, the little boy frowned and marched toward Jynx in a fit. Jynx's hands quivered uncontrollably, and the flat ball slipped from her hands to the grass below. It hit the ground at about the same time as the boy's face did—he'd tripped on his untied shoelace.

Jynx's mind was being pounded by throbs of pain and confusing thoughts. A frisbee flew over and whacked the girl in the back of the head. Someone talking on a cell phone walked past her back, shouting into his device due to an absence of reception.

Three children bawling before her, Jynx sprung to her feet and sprinted off, putting distance between her and the poor people her powers were bringing misfortune to. She blasted off, and soon enough, she felt her lungs would burst, but she kept going. She ran and ran, almost out of the park, when a huge, fleshy thing came out from behind a tree, blocking her way.

Something about this large, round, fleshy thing was familiar. For one thing, it smelled pretty rank, and Jynx knew that rank stench from anywhere.

She stared up in turmoil at Mammoth, who glowered down at her with a tainted grin.

"Hey," he grunted with gruff chuckle.

"Well, well, well," chimed the whiny voice of Jynx's other old 'friend' as he came dropping from a tree branch, metal spider legs holding him in place. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Jynx glared at them with jealous fury, hissing, "What do you want?"

"Just sayin' 'hi' to an old pal," Mammoth slyly explained, his eyes twinkling in a way that suggested otherwise.

"Bullshit," Jynx seethed, her fingers twitching with pain.

"Fine," Gizmo huffed. "Listen, snotface, we're only here because our crud-munchin' Headmaster has an offer for you."

Jynx's heart pounded at the thought of going back home, back to the life she once had. This didn't erase her doubt, however. There was certainly something fishy going on. How did they know she was here? All the same, they had an offer, and she figured she might as well listen to it.

"…What kind of offer?"

-Transmission Interrupted-