Kishi: I swear, I swear, I SWEAR I'll make this a good fic. Really.

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Spirits

Prologue

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They outnumbered him in the neighborhood of a hundred to one. Scraps of their comrades lay about his nonchalant frame. They all stared, iron certainty in their eyes at the one.

The literal middleman merely shook his head. The poor fools didn't stand a chance.

They should have come in all at once to restrict his movements at the very least, but no, they came one at a time from any direction. The stranger in the middle caught the first fist from the right, pulled the 'bot into a scorpion's fist and sent him back into the crowd of compatriots.

Then there was that other in front, coming with a knife-handed blow. Deflect off to the side, take his head as warning that he shouldn't do that, step away from the body, spin low, catch the two to your side with double-groin elbows, sweep both, get up, go, go, move, now catch this kick—

Only he failed to catch it. The powerful stomp to his middle sent him reeling into a group of the metallic sycophants, and suddenly blows were raining down on him. But he didn't react as if they affected him at all. Their clawed fingers opened gashes in him, their blows rained on his ribs, his groin, his legs, and yet he appeared totally relaxed, almost indifferent to his punishment.

Then, without any real warning, he burst free from the arms of his assailants, taking the arms with him. He windmilled about, batting aside assaulting appendages, slamming bodies left and right. Soon, however, the arms were stumps. He threw them with such force that those who intercepted them were knocked back at least a step or three.

Step around this strike—no, on second thought, maybe he'll go flying into the wall. Circuitry crackled their lifeblood out into the air as he shook his head. He felt a familiar surge of emotion, the feelings of spikes driving through his fingers. He fed this emotion as he reached back into the wall and grabbed a pipe that, prior to its conscription had been doing its job rather well as far as water mains go. The rough draft process caused an explosion of water to burst from the hole, smashing bots back into the opposite wall.

Eventually, the current petered out. As some of the bots stood back up and more appeared, they beheld the one, his black gi hanging off of him like a sodden rag. He was holding the pipe parallel to the ground in a horse stance, looking at the bots with a look of angry disdain, as if all their efforts were futile.

They came again. The pipe swung, and one toward the front was stopped dead cold with the shock of the pipe to its side. The pipe twirled, and the other two flew off to the left. The one became a metal tornado, any offending limb swiftly receiving a powerful blow for its troubles. Several bots were taken out this way.

Bot jumping in, staff flows to catch in a golf-like swing, catch another in the head, skewer another as he leaps overhead and pole vault a kick into another's middle. Swing around, knocking out the leg of one on the right, straight into a torso that goes flying. A mass of desperate limbs reaching, reaching, finding a pipe spinning rapidly and breaking the limbs like so many twigs.

By the time the one stood back up erect, there were more pieces littering the ground. He nodded, satisfied with his work, and turned around to walk away. As he began his exodus, panels along the walls slid out silently, and high caliber machine guns oriented on him.

The first cracks of fire alerted him, and he spun around, pipe alive in his hands again. Bullets began to bounce off of the metal organism in his hands as he remembered that you never hit a bullet head on – you hit it on the side, so that its payload doesn't go off.

The fire broke off for a second, during which more and more panels slid out and took aim. He sighed, and his eyes narrowed in focus. The air began to shimmer around him, like heat waves off of pavement. He looked at the wall and picked a gun, and the shimmering flowed towards it. When the firing began, an entire column of machine guns did not join, a number that continued to grow as more and more guns shut down.

Finally, it was over. A voice spoke over an intercom – "Would Daniel Hess please report to the debriefing room? Daniel Hess to the debriefing room."

A door appeared out of the honeycomb, and Dan stepped through.

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The man in the iron mask nodded as he reviewed the feedback. Yes, he mused, this one would do well.

Dan walked in, and Slade glanced at him. He was tall, Dan was, with auburn colored hair and brown eyes of such a hue as to be black. He bore many scars, some nicks and grooves on hands and feet, one or two tiny crosses here or there on his face.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" he asked.

"Yes," said Slade. "I see you've begun employing the new gifts I gave you. How do you like them?"

"They serve as they should," he replied.

"Good. I'm glad to see that you've recovered nicely. I want to employ you for a job."

"Why me?"

"The Teen Titans have robbed me of two apprentices now. I need someone to fight them who does not bear any sort of emotional involvement that they can use."

Daniel frowned. "What makes you think I'm not emotionally involved?"

"Because you're only attuned to one emotion."

Daniel nodded. "Fair enough."

"Are there any other questions?"

"No."

"Very well, then."

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Daniel walked into the room the HIVE had given him. Some chose to customize their rooms with personal affectations, but his room was spartan, plain – a bed, a bathroom, and a desk with a computer terminal.

He tapped a few buttons on the terminal and accessed the records for the Teen Titans.

Teen Titans Data

Accessing...

Timothy Drake

Call Sign: Robin

Caucasian

Meta-gene: None

Combat Ability:

Has working knowledge of several forms of martial arts. Proficient in the use of bo staff. Various tools in utility belt including multiple payload delivery systems, boomerang, and grappling hook.

Weakness: human frailty

Notes:

Utilizes a motorcycle for personal transportation. Determined, ruthless, intelligent. Leader of the Teen Titans.

Accessing...

Koriand'r

Call Sign: Starfire

Tamaranian

Meta-gene: None, see Alien Genetics

Combat Ability:

Basic hand-to-hand. Superior strength, flight, solar energy absorption and manipulation.

Weakness: unknown

Notes:

Naïve, compassionate, foolish. Air-to-air interceptor.

Accessing...

Victor Stone

Call Sign: Cyborg

African-American

Meta-gene: None

Combat Ability:

Brawler tactics. Utilizes bionic components as weapons. Arsenal includes sonic cannon, enhanced strength, detachable controllable limbs, adaptable sensor implant.

Weakness: limited power supply.

Notes:

Has built all the vehicles in use by the Titans. Brash, straight-forward, loyal. Team mechanic.

Accessing...

Garfield Logan

Call Sign: Beast Boy

Race Inconclusive

Meta-gene: Unlimited animal mutation

Combat Ability:

No hand-to-hand ability to speak of. 'Morph' ability changes him from human to animal and back.

Weakness: varies, presumably human frailty.

Notes:

Overconfident, inability to focus, cunning. Unconventional support.

Accessing...

Raven

Call Sign: Raven

Race Inconclusive

Meta-gene: None, see Alien Genetics

Combat Ability:

Basic hand-to-hand skills. Advanced telepathic/psychokinetic abilities. Has basic empathic capabilities. Possible healing abilities.

Weakness: presumably human frailty.

Notes:

Focused, level-headed, possibly unstable. Unconventional support.

His eyebrows raised on Raven's profile. He perused her picture, a startling pair of blue-violet eyes glaring under the cover of a blue hood. He felt a stirring, a feeling as of a chord struck in harmony.

Fight the Teen Titans, he thought. Yes. If I can't defeat them, there is no way my own plans will come to fruition.

He tapped a few more keys and beheld a message in his account. He brought it up.

"Mission orders," he read aloud. "Assume disguise and monitor the Titans first-hand in battle. Assess for more detailed weaknesses. Any means acceptable. Stipulation: Robin shall not be killed."

Which means that Slade has plans for Robin, he thought. Is he planning on making him an apprentice? Or is he one of those escapees? He sat back, to think, and to plan.

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Kishi: My original take on this idea wasn't exactly good, so I'm going to start over again from scratch. Happy reading!

Teen Titans is copyrighted to DC Comics and all related authorities. The TV series is copyrighted to Glen Murakami, I believe, but I don't know for sure yet.

The only things that are mine are those things that I perceive as original, and thusly are mind. If you recognize an idea that you came up with first, all credit goes to you.

Where I can be contacted is usually debatable; however, my e-mail is in my author profile....