It always begins with a Robin, and this is no different. Robin was the first teenager to become a hero, partnered with the mysterious Batman no less. There was no doubt a time would come when the bird would grow older and fly off on his own path. Which led a young Richard Grayson into forming a support group not just for himself but other teen heroes. As Robin the only traveling Grayson knew had been with Batman, so he used social media and an untraceable laptop to recruit several teen heroes [most of them with metahuman abilities] from around his region into joining his group. However their first meeting was discovered by the Calculator and intercepted by mercenary villains. Deadshot and Multiplex made an example of the one trained teenage hero at the location, Robin, and they beat him to death after he took a crippling gunshot to the knee. When Batman showed it was too late, and the few young wannabe heroes who tried to help were only tossed aside by the Multiplex duplicates. Batman told the young rookie heroes to go home and burn their suits. Gotham was no place for them and they had no business trying to be heroes. That was when Robert, a native of Metropolis spoke up. "If we have no business trying to be heroes then you had no business trying to train yourself a sidekick. We have powers at least, which is more than Robin had, we just have nowhere to train..."

When Batman disappeared into the night with the body of Robin the young aspiring heroes thought that it would be the last time they ever saw Batman. The heroes who had answered Robin's call in Gotham were the first to be notified. The others from neighboring major cities like Midway, Bludhaven, and Metropolis were just as surprised at the news. "Meet me at this location, midnight." The young heroes were shocked to find Batman as well as another hero, Wildcat, standing in an alley behind Grant Gym. The group followed the two heroes to an entrance below the Gym where an HQ had been set up. Darker more stealthy uniforms were also provided.

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Rules:

1.) No back-to-back posting.

2.) PAY ATTENTION TO DETAIL AND SET-UPS!!

3.) Make sense. If we can't make heads or tails of your posts they're likely to get skipped over.

4.) Get permission before using another player's character in your posts if it involves changing the scene or making actions or just ask to collaborate in the titanpad. Everybody will take beatings in this game in battle however, so don't get pissed if you get punched or blasted into a wall by the bad guys!

5.) Problems with the game or players should be sent directly to me through PM's. I don't want a bunch of bickering in the OOC.

6.) In the event a player/character breaks contact for a week or more their character will be written into the background and another player/character will be given the spot. Should the outed player return they'll be on a probationary status until regular posting/contact continues.

7.) Abandoned characters will be used as NPC's or killed off within the context of the story. Players/characters will have to be inactive for over two weeks to be considered abandoned.

8.) “I was waiting for [insert player/character] to make a move” is not an excuse to stop posting..

9.) My word is law.

10.) Obey the law.

11.) There is no rule #11.

12.) In the event that I'm offline for any period of time, the deputy/co-GM will take control and HIS/HER word will then be law.

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Gotham City, 12 am EST...

The first night the group of teenagers had seen each other since the night Robin was beaten to death was a little awkward to say the least. There stood Batman and an older hero most of the kids didn't know, Wildcat. Ted Grant was a vigilante back in the days when it was still new and hip. Wildcat didn't look his age, rumors of him having nine lives were all around the superhero circles. But he had agreed to help Batman train these kids as he would have Richard Grayson had asked him to personally. Grant could see the good that could come from it all. With a 'Follow us...' from the grizzled voice of Batman the teen heroes were lead to a secret staircase in the back of Grant's Gym that lead down to what appeared like a larger than usual underground bunker.

"This area here was made back during WWII as part of an underground R&D division of the military..." Grant began to boast as it looked like a mix between the Batcave and a high tech gymnasium nowadays that looked as if it was dreamed up on an episode of the Jetsons.

"It will serve as your training area and HQ." Batman said almost cutting the elder hero off, "I managed to find Richar... Robin's files on each of you. I know what you can do, where you're from, and what you had for dinner last night. As most of you are still in school, you will attend public school at North Gotham High School and finish your general studies. You will be taken care of in terms of a place to live, and those of you old enough will need to get part time jobs as to blend in with the unusual tone of Gotham..." Batman continued on and on with the instructing until one of the teens finally lost their patience.

"Your families have been contacted by the school's exchange student program and everything will check out. If you want to do this right, you have to stay in school to get my support. I'll get to know how responsible each of..." Batman continued walking them through the large area when Robert Hall opened his mouth...

"Are we doing this, training and everything, to get the guys who did this to Robin?! I'm ready to bust some skulls..." Robert said excitedly as Batman continued to give him the scowl he's known for.

"I took down Deadshot and Multiplex myself four days ago. When I train you and your younger brother you'll bust skulls when there's skulls to be busted..." Batman responded as he finally came to a room with several uniforms in darker colors on mannequins.

Batman looked around at the ten young metahumans who Robin selected for his 'Titans' team. He saw the potential, and like Robin, also saw the potential for disaster that could rise from one of these kids going off half cocked without proper training. Vesta, or Argonaut as Batman has dubbed her, was an Amazon who could destroy Gotham City in it's entirety in less than three hours. Chester Prince, who insisted on the name Rat Boy, could infect the city with infected rats if left to his own madness and insecurities. Bruce Wayne knew deep down Richard Grayson knew what he was going to do with this. It was time to honor his memory.

"Suit UP! Let's get to work on breaking in the new duds and get some stretching and cardio out of the way before hand to hand training begins. Men and Women's showers/restrooms are back in that corner there..." Wildcat mentioned, "So hurry it up and don't leave me waiting. I ain't getting any younger here..."

~KL~

11:30PM EST
A train en route to Grant Gym

Vesta held on onto the bar lining the roof of the train like a sloth. Her eyes were half closed as she stared at the floor in silent contemplation or boredom as most people called it. The sounds of 'Culture Club' played quietly through her headphones. Her long black hair was draped over her beloved black T-shirt featuring a picture of 'The Smiths' - her favourite band. Holding the top of her head in place was a, yet again black snapback featuring the words "Boy" in bold letters. A reference to the Petshop boys to the wise observer. Diana had warned her that overdoing it on the 80s band merch would just make her look like some sort of 'fangirl'. But to be honest, Vesta didn't know the meaning of the word. Literally. In fact, she took it as a compliment rather than an insult as she was both a fan and a girl. She also wore a pair of skinny jeans and high top trainers, but who cares about them when you've got a 'rad' Smiths T-shirt?

Her eyes casually surveyed the train like a meerkat would survey the Savannah. It was practically empty other than a few homeless people and a very tired looking business man. Ves wasn't exactly wide awake herself, she stifled a yawn as the automated voice called out the next stop. Ves picked her sports bag up from the chair behind her and slung it over her shoulder. Getting clothes for a woman of her size was hard enough, getting a bag big enough to carry a sword inconspicuously was another thing altogether.

She exited the train with a lost look on her face and turned back just in time to snatch her map from the seat just to the left of the door. She noticed the bar she had been holding on to was significantly bent out of shape as she began walking towards the stairs attached to the platform. Her sister, Diana had marked out the route on the map, Ves didn't know what she would have done without her dear old sister. She would have probably still been walking about in toga's and differentiating genders based on beards if it weren't for her.

12AM EST
Grant Gym

Ves towered over the other teens with a great amount of self consciousness. She bit the corner of her thumb's nail as she half listened to Batman and Wildcat and half thought about what everyone else thought about her. She moved with the group as they travelled down into the secret bunker of the gym. It was like nothing, Ves had ever seen. Seeing a computer for the first time was one thing, seeing one that was bigger than her was another.

When Ves heard the notion of getting a job in order to 'blend in' she felt butterflies flutter around in her stomach. She highly doubted a 7 foot tall woman would 'blend in' at all just because she got a job at Starbucks. Nevertheless, she kept quiet as the tour continued, eventually reaching a room that displayed the costumes the team would be wearing. Vesta's costume was much to her liking, it was sleek and modern but also retained quite a bit of her Amazonian culture.

She moved over to the costume and removed it from the mannequin before uttering a short.
"Thank you" With a wide grin before following her orders and going into the women's bathroom to get changed. She stuffed her casual attire into the bag underneath her weapons and brought it out with her into the room she had been in previously. She wished she hadn't gotten changed so quickly. It was just her, alone in a room with Batman and Wildcat. Unexpectedly, the costume had given her a surprising boost in her confidence and her voice didn't waver in the slightest with her next few sentences.
"Uh, sirs?" She spoke, unsure if she should have called them 'Mr. Batman' and 'Mr. Wildcat'.
"My mother sent me these after the event with Robin" She explained, unzipping her sports bag and opening it to reveal the set of equipment. She had already put on the bracers, but then again she considered it a part of her costume.
"Also, Mr. Batman and Mr. Wildcat sirs I'm not entirely sure how uhm" She said, becoming more conscious about the fact that she had just made an amalgamation of what she wanted to call the two and what she didn't want to. She moved a strand of hair away from her face before speaking once more.
"Well put it this way, I'm rather tall and I'm not sure getting a part time job will make me blend in as such." She hoped the conversation would be over before any of the other teens came out, it was awkward enough as it was.

Her own supersuit... It wasn't exactly as she envisioned it. They'd gotten some details right, no sleeves and um... well it wasn't exactly how she envisioned it at all. It what she should have expected, a skin tight cat suit, but some part of her hoped it would be more..."Just get in the suit Caitlyn." She wouldn't have to wear this the rest of her crime fighting career, when she was making a name for herself she can make her own costume. She slipped in smoothly, considering they'd never taken her measurements it was good fit, Batman clearly has experience eyeballing size from CCTV footage. Just as she was leaving, she caught herself in the mirror. It looked better on her than when it was flat and lifeless and the robin-esque mask was a great touch, she still felt a little ridiculous and very self-conscious. She took her cargo trousers back out of the bag and slipped them on over the suit, disguising her little legs and immediately looking less top heavy. It would have to do.

"Well put it this way, I'm rather tall and I'm not sure getting a part time job will make me blend in as such."

She wasn't serious was she? She couldn't possibly, she saw us all earlier. We are a complete bunch of weirdies, shes one of the most normal looking of the lot, except maybe dumb and dumber. She had to be trying to skive out of working all day, she did look the sort to try it, probably hasn't worked a day in her life. Caitlyn decided not to comment for now, keeping her thoughts to herself, it was patently obvious it was a stupid thing to say. She did however take the opportunity to look disapprovingly at her. And then she changer her mind.

"You know sweetie, you'd make a great lamppost, or a tree, must be some job openings in those departments here in Gotham", Caitlyn suggested. She tried hard not to be too heavy on the sarcastic tones but she wasn't particularly good at not speaking her mind. "Some of us have real physical afflictions and we're still going to blend in nonetheless."

2 Days prior

His stay in the hospital hadn't been a pleasant one. Not only was he now thousands of dollars in dept, but he'd been missing from the world for about a week. Bolin was sure he would go mad. He sat slumped in the wheelchair as the staff guy wheeled him out to the lobby. They had been amazed at how fast he'd healed. After all, a few nights ago, he'd been admitted to the ICU. Now all that remained was a small bandage on his neck and his right ribs. They had offered to let him stay a few more nights, but Bolin insisted on leaving before they charged him another ten grand.

The man in blue scrubs pushed his chair out onto the sidewalk and looked around. "Are we waiting for someone to pick you up?" He asked.

"No, this is good," Bolin said glumly. He wasn't usually so down, but given the events of last week, one could allow it. Bolin stood up from the chair and shoved his hands in his pockets as he shuffled down the street. His head hung as he kicked at pebbles in his path. It was about an hour long walk to his apartment complex, and all Bolin wanted to do when he got there was lay down.

He slunk in the door and slammed it behind him before flopping down on his old couch. He stared up at the ceiling for a while before he got up again. Might as well start packing his things; he wouldn't be able to afford this dump anymore. As Bolin grabbed a box and started shoving things in it, an envelope on the floor caught his eye. It was right inside his mail slot, waiting innocently for him to get home.

Bolin groaned internally and made his way over to pick it up. What was it this time? He opened the letter and scanned over it, then crumpled it up in his hands. Not again.

Present

Bolin didn't know why he was here. He'd told himself several times that day that he wouldn't come. He didn't want anything to do with superheroes anymore; his dreams had thoroughly been crushed. He would just deal with the Clan like Shi had said, and leave the hero-ing to the experienced type. But come the night of the meeting, his feet had lead him here.

Bolin looked around the bunker, clearly impressed. His eyes wandered over Batman, who sent chills down his spine, and Wildcat, who he wasn't really familiar with. Finally, he spotted the suits. His was fairly easy to pick out; the logo on the front was of a guardian lion, like Shishi. The colors were bright and quality was far better than his old, hand made getup. Bolin walked over to it and ran a hand over the fabric, still in a sort of daze. The funk he'd been in all week was slowly fading, but now he just felt kind of numb. Like this was all a dream and it couldn't be real.

His attention was caught by a nasty comment made by one of his 'teammates' towards another. A catfight sounded like it could ensue. Bolin clenched his jaw, then opened his mouth to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

"Hey," He said, his tone surprisingly serious for once, "We've all had a rough week. Could we maybe try to make this less painful than it already is?"

Archer went through that whole week feeling like crap. A nasty mix between guilt and self-doubt. Not only had he let Robin down, but the Boy Wonder was dead on top of that. During the days leading up to that night, Archer had gained so much confidence. He'd met the hero he considered his role model, and not only that, but said hero asked Archer to join his team. That was honestly the kind of dream-come-true that only happened in the movies. And what did Archer do? He blew it, big time. Got Robin killed, and it was all his fault. It wasn't actually his fault, of course, but good luck telling that to Archer, since through that whole week he was utterly convinced that he was indeed to blame.

And then... the letter. What was he supposed to do? If the letter was from one of his would-have-been teammates, he couldn't just ignore it. So here he was, among everyone Robin had recruited at a Gym, with Wildcat and The Dark Knight himself staring them down. Archer honestly expected some kind of lecture, but then they were shown an underground bunker area of the gym. Why would Batman and Wildcat be showing them this? It didn't exactly dawn on Archer what was happening at first, but when it did the realization hit like a ton of bricks. They were getting a second chance? Batman actually saw fit to give him a second chance?

He heard Batman mention the name of his school for some reason, but Archer was still stunned with surprise and as such didn't exactly respond. In fact the only thing that got him to snap out of it, finally, was Wildcat barking at everyone to suit up. Archer then found a locker with his name on it and retrieved a suit from it. Now, Robin had originally helped Archer make a suit before, but this was clearly not quite the same. For one thing, it was mostly black with light blue highlights, whereas the one Robin had gave him was mostly white instead to match his ice powers. Batman clearly preferred a stealth-oriented suit, and Archer wasn't argue with the Caped Crusader over the matter either. He obediently put the suit on and looked himself over in a mirror. Was he imagining things or did his suit somehow remind him of Firestorm of all people? It was definitely the mask, since the thing looked like a literal recolor of Firestorm's mask. Was this intentional somehow?

Well, since Wildcat warned them all not to keep him waiting, Archer decided to adhere to the warning and get back out to where he waited. Before he left the mirror, he noted the presence of a "z" on his belt and the stylized z etched on his shoulder and chest. It must have stood for "Zero", which was a name Archer admittedly didn't come up with on his own. In fact he took the name on Robin's suggestion, and he supposed that Batman must have also liked the suggestion based on the design of the suit. In any case, Zero now found himself standing in front Batman and Wildcat once again, this time suited up. Two of the girls sounded like they were about to argue, and he wisely decided to stay far away from that one, having learned long ago to never ever get in the middle of a catfight.

"So um..." Archer started to say, "...why is everyone getting transferred to my school of all places?" it wasn't exactly a pressing question, but he was curious. He also decided to satisfy one other curiosity of his, "Oh and... why does my mask make me look like Firestorm of all people? I mean... I'm an ice guy so... looking like a fire guy seems a bit strange."

8 hours earlier

Chester was still wondering how this whole invitation to meet Batman at the Grant Gym would turn. His anxiety started to kick in and his mind raced with the idea that this may be a trap set by either the bastards that killed Robin or maybe even the authorities. Ever since Robin's death Chester had been having bouts of anxiety and paranoia, making it harder for him to focus at times. Thankfully they weren't constant, but it made things difficult.

"What do you think about this? Do you think I should go?" he asked his pet rats as they climbed on his shoulder. He had two rats for pets, one was named Archie and the other named Amy.

"I can't see how the villains would have figured out where you live since they killed Robin before any of you could get to really know each other" Amy replied in a slightly squeaky voice.

"Ya you never know, there could be food involved and you know how I love food" Archie said with a little giggle.

"I'm not taking you two along yet" Chester said to the rats.

"Why not?" the two rodents asked almost simultaneously.

"Because I want to make sure that the place is safe and I don't want to put you two into unnecessary danger" he responded to them.

"But we've helped you before" they countered.

"Yes and you will soon, but this time you'll stay here and I'll come back for you as soon as I see what this whole thing is about" he said his pets with a reassuring smile. They were two of his closest friends and after Robin's death he wasn't keen on putting them in danger so soon after a teammate had died.

"Please be careful Chester" Amy told him in a concerned voice; of the two she was the most worried about his well being, which was natural for rats.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine" Chester half lied, he wasn't sure how this would turn out, but he didn't want to let his friends become worried.

Midnight

When he got to Gym Chester saw Batman and another costumed man who he didn't recognize. He looked like some type of feline vigilante and Chester was glad he hadn't brought Archie and Amy along with him, they might have panicked when they saw him. Chester also saw the others that he had met when the terrible night had happened, and some new heroes that he didn't know a thing about. One that caught attention quickly was Argonaut, she was so tall and that made him think about how much of a target she would make herself, well he now knew who he would use as a meat shield when shit hit the fan.

He followed Batman and the other older vigilante down to what looked like bunker that was built underneath the gym. Chester listened to Batman explain that the place was built during the second world war and it was now their headquarters.

"Military training facility, very hardcore" he thought to himself. Batman then informed them about their schooling arrangements and how he would assist in maintaining their secret identities. That was very nice of the dark hero and even though he didn't show it Chester was very thankful for help in keeping his hero life a secret. He was a little bummed that he would have to stay in school to get the Dark Knight's support, but there was a price for everything in life so Chester would have to deal with it.

Chester listened to Robert talk about wanting to go after Deadshot and Multiplex to bust their skulls, and he rolled his eyes. He too wanted to bring the villains to justice, but training was necessary if they were going not get their asses handed to them a second time. Batman then informed them that he had already taken down the two villains and Chester was glad that they were brought to justice, but he had wanted to bring them to justice as well. Either way he was still going to stay with this team in honor of their dead teammate.

After they were instructed to suit up, Chester went to find his new costume and upon seeing it he almost laughed.

"Oh my God, he replaced the yellow with black" he said out loud as looked over his suit. It looked cool and he was glad to have it, but it wasn't as bright as his last suit had been, which was probably for the purpose of stealth. His shrinking abilities already made him stealthy, but he guessed that the Dark Knight wanted it more harder for him to be spotted. After suiting up he returned to the room with the others.

"Nice suit, I really like the black" he said with a bit of sarcasm in his voice. He then heard Argonaut speak about her height making it tough for her to fit in and Chester chuckled.

"Don't worry, we'll just tell them that you were an experiment for height changing tech" he chuckled. He then heard Zero ask why everyone was being transferred to his school and why he apparently looked similar to the hero Firestorm.

"1: He probably wants to keep a close eye on us and what better way to do that then to go to the same school. 2: Now you and Firestorm can be a buddies of opposite elements, your team name could be The Arctic Volcanoes" he said with a laugh. His humor had gotten the better of him and he couldn't help, but make jokes.

It was late at night when El Sasquatcho exited the Gotham Taco Hut, a lovely franchise, one of many serving the greater Gotham area. True, it was a rather typical taco joint, one step above a pushcart with a questionable Health Department score, but he’d be damned if they didn’t stuff the best beef burritos in town.

And speaking of stuffing burritos, the tall furry youth couldn’t seem to wait to get back to his El Camino before lifting up the bottom of his brown & black sugar skull luchador mask, cramming half his first one into his pie-hole. Manners be damned, those things were awesome. He wrapped his other savory, beef-filled, hot and tangy sauce dripping, soft flour tortilla encased bit of loveliness (with just the right amount of stock infused yellow rice inside) up in its takeaway bag, and tossed it into the passenger side of his vehicle. Leaving the burrito hanging in his mouth, he dug around in his pocket for keys, and readied himself to depart.

He had an appointment to keep, you see.

El Sasquatcho opened the driver’s side door to his car, affectionately referred to as his “Vato Truck”, and ripped the rest of the burrito from his face. Pausing for a moment to chew and swallow his gargantuan bite before hopping in and driving off, he was surprised to hear his name being called behind him, from outside the building he had just exited.

“Hector! Mr. Delacruz, is that you?” this from a man in his late 30’s, carrying two large takeaway bags himself. Trying not to jostle them too hard, he jogged up to the masked man, pausing himself to admire the handiwork of his luchador mask. “Not bad, at all, Hector! I love that you’ve kept up your artistic pursuits. La Muerte’s Luchador, eh? But the colors… it’s not quite traditional, is it? Does it mean something, Hector?”

“No soy Hector Delacruz,” began the masked youth. “Soy El Sasqua..” he was abruptly cut off by the man, honestly not giving a crap for the theatrics.

“Your name is Hector Delacruz, Squatch-boy. You were the only native speaker from my Spanish Language courses who always got a B. You drive the same shitty El Camino you did in your junior year. I just need a favor for a sec, ok Hector?

“Yo, Senor Martinez, don’t knock my ride, eh? The Vato Truck and me’ve been through a lot together. Whaddyou need? I got somewhere to be.”

The man’s voice softened, and he smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, Hector. And please, call me Luis. You’re not my student anymore. I like you. I actually want to offer you a job. It’s part time, but the pay’s ok and it’s actually really fun. You’re keeping up with your art, I see?”

“A little.”

“Well, make it a lot.” Luis set a bag down and handed over a business card, “The Gotham Cultural Arts Center needs someone to help out with Latino Folk Arts. Thanks to your …nonstandard upbringing… and natural talent with art, they’re taking my recommendation. You’d report to me, and I promise I won’t ask much of you. Deal?”

Luis Martinez indeed had taken a liking to the young man. Inquisitive and dramatic by nature, his otherwise horrifying life hadn’t seemed to destroy his spirits. Adversity, of which he’d seen a lot, pressured him to excel. It was a trait that the elder teacher admired and wanted to nurture. Now that Hector was out of school, Luis wanted to make sure the younger man was putting his life to good use, helping people, pursuing his gifts. “Just think about it, ok?”

El Sasquatcho nodded his head. “Sure thing, Mr. Mar… Luis. I’ll call you tomorrow, we can set something up.” In truth, he was relieved to get the offer. He’d been living out of his car for the past week, showering at gyms and depleting his meager savings for selfish things like food and toothpaste. Depending upon what happened later that evening, he may very well find himself in dire need of a stable income. “So, umm, I’ve got an excuse, but what are you doing in this neighborhood at this time of night?”

The teacher shook his head. “My wife, Liz? She’s pregnant. Like, about to pop, pregnant. I’m out here to pick up tacos and scotch. Lots of tacos. Lots of scotch.” The mention of alcohol earned him a quizzical look. “No no, only the tacos are for Liz. The scotch – that’s all for me. Because of Liz. I love her, but sometimes, man… Sorry, would you please look after my bags of tacos while I run across the street to the liquor store?”

The young man nodded, smiling broadly, and put the bags in the back of his El Camino. While his former mentor walked across the blacktop to purchase his necessary libations, El Sasquatcho chewed thoughtfully on his burrito, examining the massive number of tacos in his car. He was unsure how one person, however pregnant, could possibly consume all of that food in one sitting. By the time he had almost figured out the logistics of such an undertaking, accounting for wind resistance and taco sauce viscosity, Luis had returned from across the street. He carried two bottles of what looked like fairly decent quality single-malt scotch.

“Thanks, Hector.” He tucked one bottle under his arm and reached for the taco bags. A repeating tone issued from in his jacket pocket, sounding quite a bit like the intro to Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back”. Luis sighed, reached into his pocket and answered his cell.

“Yeah baby, I got your taco.. what? WHAT!? It’s coming NOW? Holy shit, sweetie! We’re having a baby! …no, no sorry, you’re having a baby. Yes, I know, the pushing and the small spaces and the … I know. Yes, honey. Yes. I’m sorry. Sorry. Ye… SORRY. You’re having the baby, I’m just the asshat who did this to you. Uh-huh. Ok. Look, you want me to meet you there, or.. ? Oh, sorry for interrupting. Again. …oh, goddamnit… NOTHING SWEETIE! My little churrita. Luis loves his Lizzie-bear. Ok, I’m coming to get you now.”

He pocketed his cell, and shoved the scotch into El Sasquatcho’s arms. “I’ve got to go, Hector! We’re having a baby! Ha!! I gotta run. Call me about that job, Hector!”

Luis ran to his car, totally forgetting about his food, abandoning his booze in the hands of a nineteen year old in the middle on the night in front of a Taco Hut. El Sasquatcho remembered less interesting nights, that’s for sure. He finished his burrito, slid into his ride, and peeled away into the dark night.

---

El Sasquatcho was not the first to arrive, so he had a bit of an audience for his reaction when he first saw Batman and Wildcat standing together to greet them. Now that the circumstances were slightly less tragic, he allowed his fanguyishness to crack open, just a bit. Tacos in one hand, booze in the other, he sprinted three steps and fell to his knees, sliding several feet and rotating fully once. He came to rest about a meter from the feet of the established and respected Heroes, proclaiming loudly and proudly:

“Senor Batman, Senor Wildcat, it is a great honor to meet you formally, sirs. I am El Sasquatcho, Sangre de El Santo, the last of my people, and I present you offerings of Tacos! And Scotch!”

The silence was oppressive. He heard crickets. Really.

---

Inside, he respectfully listened to everything his new mentors had to say. Taking his new surroundings in, he was amazed that such a place existed for his benefit. This location was more than he could have hoped for; a place for him to train and do some real good in the world. “This will make an excellent Squatchcave…” he breathed quietly.

If he learned anything from his failure a week prior, or by looking over his teammates, it was that he could not count on being the strongest, nor the toughest anymore. Certainly not the most experienced combatant. While he did not have to exercise much to maintain his natural strength and stamina, the thing he could do, and swore he would as often as possible, was work on his fighting technique and stealth. These two Heroes were the ones to do it, and this place was perfect. He swore on his ancestors, lest he be forgotten after death, that he would make himself into a Luchador worthy of his people.

He became positively gleeful when the new outfits were presented. He could easily tell which one was his; some jackass draped a shag carpet over the mannequin before putting the armor on. “Ha ehfrigging ha, people.” He sarcastically blurted out as the others went to their own uniforms. Inspecting his, El Sasquatcho’s wry expression evaporated. This guy had him set up in articulated combat gear, armored, made to protect and move around in. No expense spared, it looked like. Matte black and brown – the same color brown as half of his mask.

The headgear, though, was a source of sincere gratitude. The exact styling of his beloved luchador mask, otherwise unassuming, but designed to be protective. Careful to hide his face in the transition, he slipped it on. Oh, the headbutts he could administer with this on…. Yes. Quite acceptable.

“HEY GUYS, LOOK AT…” was that his voice? The mask augmented and amplified his voice, making him roar like an angry hippodemon. He’d have to learn how to control this, but by God this was neat.

He didn’t bother waiting to get to the changing rooms. While the other Titans filed out of the room, The Man With No Shame, headgear still masking his face, dropped trou and began fitting into his new gear on the spot. The impatient, disapproving looks of his mentors was met with a shrug, and an explanation distorted by his mask’s vocal scrambler to a harsh growl:

“I know, I know. It’s like the 70’s down there.”

Six Hours Ago

Derrick couldn't stop looking at himself as he gazed into the mirror. A long overdue haircut had been ordered as he realized that it could only hold him back, the Multiplex clone yanking on it raising the first red flag. All that was left was a simple buzzcut, the fallen hair being swept up and mailed to a charity. The good cause only softening the blow slightly, not enough to take the pain away but enough not to lose sleep over. Adjusting to the change would take some time but hell, he had a lot of that. Speaking of which it was time to go, Gotham was a ways away. Derrick left the bathroom after running his hands through his hair one more time before he grabbed his stuff. A duffle bag filled with about a weeks worth of clothes, a wallet with all his current savings, and The Axe which was slung over his shoulder. The goodbye was quiet, all the words having been spoke not that long ago. No, the small family just hugged for a long while. It was time for baby bird to leave the nest.

"Gloves? Check. Jacket? Check. Helmet? Check. Keys? Check." Derrick ran through his mental checklist as he set Iron Maiden up to leave, the old hog had barely been ridden since Mom gave up the gang so many years ago and it was a miracle that it ran as well as it did. She would need a check up sooner or later but the ol' gal would get Derrick to Gotham in no time. Iron Maiden's engine roared as he peeled out towards Gotham, the horizon holding his destiny.

---

Present

A deep rumble heralded Derrick's arrival. the Iron Maiden gave a groan as he pulled up to a stop, she would need a brake after this. Stepping off Derrick began to stretch the stiffness the long ride gave him out of his body. Before he entered the gym however his eyes were to a very different beast, the Al Camino someone else had driven. A whistle sang out as he scoped it out, a truly beautiful machine. After ogling the car for a bit Derrick entered the gym and heard the same speech everyone else did, which posed an odd problem for Derrick. He'd dropped out of school when money got a little too tight, instead getting a job and helped to keep the family afloat. When the time came where his contributions weren't needed anymore Derrick just never thought to go back, instead just cutting back to part time and playing for whoever would pay him.

Deciding to save that topic of discussion for another time, Derrick just kept his mouth shut and walked up to his suit. In all honesty it was pretty kickass, must have been pretty expensive. Taking it all into a changing room Derrick began change, taking a couple minutes before exiting a new man. Everything was tactical in its simplicity, iron capped boots, black jeans he doubted were made of denim, a dark grey skintight long sleeved shirt, studded gloves, and a helmet looked more at home on a knight then his frame. Putting on his leather jacket for extra flair, Derrick looked ready to stop anything. Grabbing The Axe by the neck, Derrick joined everyone else on the main floor and took everything in. A little out of his element Derrick decided to lay low and wait for further instructions since Luchador seems to have things handled on the high spirits department.

"Uh, sirs? My mother sent me these after the event with Robin" She explained, unzipping her sports bag and opening it to reveal the set of equipment having already put on the bracers.

Batman and Wildcat both looked in the bag. It looked like a hundred pounds of body armor with a couple weapons as well. It was obvious it all came from the Amazons on Paradise Island. Batman picked a piece of the armor up. Before he could give his thoughts the tall young woman spoke up again.

"Also, Mr. Batman and Mr. Wildcat sirs I'm not entirely sure how uhm," she moved a strand of hair away from her face before speaking once more, "Well put it this way, I'm rather tall and I'm not sure getting a part time job will make me blend in as such."

Batman finished looking at the piece of armor and dropped it back into the bag. At the sound of hearing the seven foot tall Amazon call six foot three inch Batman 'Mr. Batman' Bruce cringed a little bit inside. Like he didn't already feel as old as somebody like Wildcat. The streets of Gotham and the inmates in and out of Arkham had been wearing him down the last several months. He welcomed the idea of more assistance.

"You know sweetie, you'd make a great lamppost, or a tree, must be some job openings in those departments here in Gotham," Caitlyn suggested, "Some of us have real physical afflictions and we're still going to blend in nonetheless."

"We've all had a rough week. Could we maybe try to make this less painful than it already is?" the one called Foo Dog asked passing by.

"I actually had something in mind for you already, Vesta. I've still yet to figure out who paid off Multiplex and Deadshot. It'd have to be someone with money to burn, and I happen to know of a dive where a lot of the crooked cops and high class criminals of Gotham congregate. The Iceburg Lounge is in need of a new metahuman bouncer down in Crown Point..." Batman began to explain to the young woman.

"So um..." Zero started to say now in costume, "...why is everyone getting transferred to my school of all places?" it wasn't exactly a pressing question, but he was curious.

"The Gotham Academy didn't have enough room for the lot of ya," Wildcat began answering, "..and we're still not sure how your social skills will be effected by the people of Gotham. This isn't Central City, everyone isn't happy, and the hero isn't running around at super speed with a cheesy smile in a bright suit. Every other weekend some district of Gotham becomes a warzone..." Grant said going off into another tangent conversation, the old man was bad for that sort of thing.

"Oh and... why does my mask make me look like Firestorm of all people? I mean... I'm an ice guy so... looking like a fire guy seems a bit strange."

"What's the matter kid, a thirty thousand dollar suit isn't good enough for ya?" Wildcat said raising an eyebrow under his mask.

Robert and Daniel didn't know what to think about the suits that had been provided for them. Scales and calf fins like Aquaman? The brothers thought the blue and black suits were cool, but it wasn't like they had applied to be in a team with the Atlantian. Maybe Robin's files had been tampered with, at least that's what the younger of the two thought. So he approached Batman as he was finishing up with Vesta.

"Um... Batman?" he managed to say loud enough for Batman's attention to be grabbed, "I think you got me and my brother confused with somebody else..."

"Your brother was an all state swimmer for three years in high school, and you've been on your school's diving team now for just under a year. Robin's file said you could swim as fast as you run in giant form, the suit will help you swim even faster... now go fuse. I'm going to need a Leviathan..." Batman instructed.

_________________________

Across town two shadowy figures met out by the docks.

"Lawton and Plex managed to keep their mouths shut." one silhouette said to the other.

"Good. The Bat can't know we have plans for one of the kids." replied the other as smoke surrounded them from one's grape smelling cigar.

"Do you really think.." the other began to question before the cigar smoking one interrupted.

"The Boy Wonder did his homework, it's just a matter of leaving the right breadcrumbs to get Batman and these 'Titans' where we want them. When the last of them are standing, the Bat won't be a problem and we'll finally take this city..."

_________________________

Several days of training, school, and getting jobs had gone by. It was late September, and the air of the Gotham night's blew cold...

~KL~

Just as Ves had finished speaking she heard a voice come from behind her. It took the gears in her head a minute to realize that it was an insult. She began biting the corner of her thumb once more, pointing her head to the floor and instead opting to just move her eyes to look at people talking rather than moving her head completely.
"I didn't really mean it like tha-" She managed to squeak out, barely audible to anyone but a dog. She was interrupted by, Bolin, stopping the argument before it had even begun.

Ves was glad that it hadn't spiralled into something more, and was even more glad that she didn't have to be the one to stop it. Her question was answered by Batman, explaining that she would work as a bouncer at a place called 'The Iceberg Lounge'. To be frank, she didn't exactly know what a bouncer was, but she felt she'd already made a fool of herself today and made a mental note to find out later.

---

Several days later

It had been a while since the team's second meeting, and Ves had really come out of her shell. Actually getting to know her new teammates increased her confidence tenfold and while she still had bouts of anxiety, she felt a lot more free to speak her mind than before. Especially since the others had gotten use to her naivety as it were.

Ves was standing in the kitchen, attempting to make a sandwich. Her main problem was that she kept pressing down too hard while spreading the jam, and would end up slicing right through the bread or scraping jam along the table. Earphones played the sounds of 'ABC' into her ears as she moved onto her sixth try. She hummed along to the tune of 'Poison Arrow' as she failed once more to spread jam on bread.

---

Chester spent the first several days getting some hard training in, deciding to start lifting weights and getting in some basic combat practice. He had little to no training in the field of armed or unarmed fighting, which was something he would have to rectify if he was going to keep up with his work as a hero. During these days of training he had realized just how unprepared he had been for their encounter with Deadshot and Multiplex. Chester didn't like how he had just rushed ahead with trying to be a hero before properly preparing himself first, and now Robin was dead. He felt his depression start rise again and he needed to find something to take his mind away from the tragic memories.

While he wandered around looking for something or someone to take his mind off the depressing thoughts, Chester saw the very tall Ves and he walked over to start up a conversation.

"Hi, so what are you doing right now? I was thinking about going to do some training and wouldn't mind some company" he asked the Amazon. Chester remembered his joke that he made about her and wondered if she still remembers it. Even though he didn't show it, the last thing he wanted was a salty training session.

---

Ves got a jolt when Chester snuck up behind her and began talking. She turned to him, taking out her earphones and hearing the most part of the sentence. She took off her beloved cap, scratched the side of her head and was about to answer before Caitlyn came in and answered for her.

---

Caitlyn was having a hard time adjusting to having indisposable team mates she had to trust and coordinate with. This wasn't the streets anymore, but her tuff girl act was one she couldn't retire just yet, it had kept her safe so far. Her attitude was putting barriers between her and other members of the team so she'd have to reign it in, transition from agent provocateur to playful windup merchant. Playful. She shuddered thinking about showing such weakness. She hadn't suspected such a giant change as she worked her way up the social ladder. Bug wasn't finished cleaning up the inside of the kitchen's trash can and was reluctant to give it up so it came too as Caitlyn left for the gymnasium's lounge.

Training was usually Caitlyn's excuse to go put a VR headset on, her venom was not to be played with. As much as she wanted to spar with the rest, leaving them incapacitated was a risk she wasn't willing to take, not until they'd at least finished knives with Batman.

"We could do something besides train all day, I mean we've been doing it 5 days straight"

---

Ves put her hat back on before replying to both of them.
"I think I agree with, Caitlyn, to be honest I'm much more interested in these Vid-eyoh games I heard, Sassy talking about" She said, mispronouncing video games so badly that it would have made Jack Thompson cringe. She desperately tried to hide her numerous failed attempts behind her back, although the jam spread all over the bunker was a different situation all together.

---

Chester waited, but wasn't expecting for Caitlyn to come and respond to his question and pointed out that they had been training for several days already. She did have a point, maybe a little fun would help him feel less anxious and cheer him up. He chuckled at Ves' pronunciation of video game, clearly Themyscira wasn't too into video games from the look of it.

"What do you want to play, Ves?" he asked her curious to hear her answer, that is unless she didn't know any games.

---

Ves thought for a moment, resting her chin on her knuckles.
"Ehm" She thought, straining all of her mental energy into remembering something she had heard in a prior conversation that she wasn't even involved in.
"The Smack Brothers?" She asked, unsure if that actually even existed.

Archer flinched a bit at the "responses" he got. First was Chester, who offered an obligatory snide remark that Archer elected to simply ignore. Seriously, most of the people here were still mourning Robin and he chooses to act like a snarky jackass? Archer just sighed with exasperation and awaited a real answer from either Batman or Wildcat. Unfortunately, the answers Wildcat offered weren't much better than Chester's, in fact they were arguably worse.

He answered Archer's school question by going off on a tirade about the general state of Gotham City. This made the ice-man frown, and feel guilty, as if Wildcat's rant was somehow placing blame for Gotham's state solely on Archer himself for some reason. Great, because Archer totally didn't feel like crap already, the older hero's snappy responses were really only making him feel worse. And of course, there was the snap response Wildcat gave about Archer's suit. Wonderful, now Archer felt like he was being ungrateful on top of everything else. Archer didn't answer, but he did sort of shrink and turn his back in shame.

Excuse me for living. Was the only thing Archer could even think right then. He still didn't say anything, for fear of pissing off Wildcat any more than he apparently already had.

---

The next several days were slow and arduous for Archer. Between not fully recovering from what happened to Robin, and his new-found fear of getting yelled at or beaten by Wildcat, Archer began to think that no one would blame him if he just up and quit. But he didn't. The honor of Robin's memory was riding on all of this and Archer had already let the Boy Wonder down once before. He made up his mind that he simply refused to quit, no matter how harsh or rough it was.

Outside of training, Archer elected to be alone. Memories of the fateful night still haunted him, and he honestly couldn't understand how everyone else could go back to being so cheerful and happy-go-lucky. Archer still honestly felt like crap, and knew that he probably still would for a while yet. That was how mourning usually worked, though the processes also tended to differ from person to person as well.

"Another day... and then another night with Drill Sergeant Wildcat. I can hardly wait." he said as he walked from school to the Gym. When he entered he found others had already gotten there. He didn't really say anything though, instead going straight for his locker so he could suit up. At least today he could already be suited up by the time Wildcat started barking orders. Maybe that would make him act less angry at everyone? Not likely, but Archer sure as hell wasn't going to start getting on the older man's bad side, especially when said older man could pretty easily take on the whole team by himself at this point.

El Sasquatcho took another swing at the training dummy. Frightening invention, this. He wondered with actual, honest scrutiny why Wildcat didn’t just bring these things into battle against the forces of evil.

At first, he cranked the difficulty level up to about halfway. You know, start off slowly. He realized his mistake a little too late, shortly after picking himself up from the heap of hair and sarcasm into which he had been hurled, far across the room. Afterwards, he dialed it WAY down and set it to “Intermediate, Instruction Mode”. Scanning through the styles offered, he tried Boxing the first day, figuring it would round out his melee options. By the end of the day, however, he met and fell into heavy flirtation with Capoeira. Something that could compliment his Wrestling, with excellent striking technique, plus capitalized on his abilities as an acrobat.

He spent the next few days dedicating his training time to it.

True to his word, he called his old teacher, Luis Martinez, and gratefully accepted a position with the Gotham Cultural Arts center. A few hours a day, A few days a week, he taught Hispanic Art classes and consulted on similar matters. Growing up as he did, he was exposed to more folk art of this nature than very possibly anyone else in the state. As promised, it was rather easy. It was fun. And he worked with kids that would otherwise not have exposure to their ancestor’s culture. It was an excellent juxtaposition to how he spent most other hours of his day.

It was after a particularly strenuous night of receiving more abuse from the automated training dummies that he took a moment to ponder introspectively. Why was he doing this? For days now, he had spent the majority of the evening hours pushing himself in this underground (and very, very cool) training facility. His jocularity the first night, symptomatic of a colorful, extroverted personality coupled with an awesome burrito high, was replaced with a gnawingly intense need to better himself.

Not that he would tell anyone else around him, but his defeat last week and subsequent forced swim shook him up. The last time he felt that level of helplessness, he was a boy of fourteen. Another bad day. Perhaps his present “flash and fanfare” attitude was part of a defense mechanism, keeping him functioning and driven in the hard world he voluntarily thrust himself. Aw, hell; perhaps he was just hungry.

The furry Luchador, for whatever reason, put himself on a diet consisting mainly of fruit and roughage. The occasional jar of peanut butter and loaf of Hawaiian bread, but that didn’t really count. He craved meat. Meat and peppers and rice. Meat, peppers, rice, and some manner of syrupy pineapple soda. Yes, it was time to hit The Taco Hut. With a vengeance. He threw a coat on over his training gear and hopped in the El Camino.

He returned twenty three minutes later, stacks of refried goodness in large bags emblazoned with the Taco Hut logo; a cartoony pueblo style dwelling with a sombrero for a roof. He made his way to the break room, tossed the food to a nearby table, and bowed with the grandiose flair of a bullfighter, whipping his coat about him. The vocal augmenter in his mask amplified his words into an anti-heroic roar as he exclaimed, “Midnight snacking time, boys and girls! El Sasquatcho has brought a bounty of Tacos and Churro Bites!”

Titans present in the break room, or any within earshot who felt like taking a meal, were greeted with a veritable cornucopia of quick-service Mexican inspired delights. Their signature tacos, certainly, plus fresh avocado guacamole, salsa, and mountains of chips. Boxes of yellow rice, fajita fixings and warm flour tortillas, and a stack of burritos, making way for warm cheesecake-filled sopapillas and chocolate covered churro bites. One bag stood alone, its contents unadded to the mounting buffet of meaty, cumin-ous aromas. “No no, my friends. This one is for me. Enjoy.”

El Sasquatcho dug into the untouched bag with reverent glee, contemplating where to begin his carnivorous destruction of the contents within. He lifted his mask enough to give a wide area of approach for his feast, and began to devour. Through a mouthful of carne asada, inquired, “Ey, is Senor Wildcat still around? Maybe he should get in on some of this, eh?” before returning to his gluttonous rampage.

A few minutes into the meal, he looked at the assembled would-be heroes. “Guys, we have got to get to know each other a little better if we’re going to work like a team, eh? El Sasquatcho has noticed a that we’re all taking a great deal of alone time. Whatddya say, next time we all have a day off, we go… ida know… do something? Like, as a group? Maybe we can catch a movie, or hit the cockfights, maybe go to the park and join a Tai Chi group…”

At this exact moment, a loud issuance of sound burbled from El Sasquatcho’s abdomen, reminiscent of plumbing beginning to back up. “Oh, no.” whispered the luchador, gritting his teeth and swallowing the bite he upon which he was presently working. He instantly regretted his decision to consume massive amounts of fiber and peanut butter over the past few days. The sudden addition of beef and fat and capsicum knocked something loose, somewhere in the deeper reaches of his digestive system; it threatened imminent breach. A threat that sounded strangely like the death growls of two pumas, their tails attached by means of a steadfast square knot.

El Sasquatcho pulled his mask back down fully, praying panic would not overtake him while he tried frantically to figure out how one might relieve themselves in this armor. Dios mio, not in the armor. He had to run. Pulling off his gear mid-stride, he bolted for the bathrooms. El Sasquatcho moved with breakneck acceleration unexpected of someone of his bulk, his years of Lucha training becoming useful as he partially ran on his hands while kicking off his tactical lower garments.

He cared not for which bathroom – blessed oasis of gastrointestinal relief – he entered, male, female, or other, so long as it had a water bearing porcelain seat capable of supporting his weight, preferably with handlebars and a seatbelt. To his own horror, he almost overshot the door to his necessary destination while bounding down the causeway like a rampaging gorilla. Reaching a ham sized fist out to stop his forward momentum, he caught the door frame and was able to swiftly pull himself back onto his path of salvation.

What occurred next would come to be known as The Great Intestinal Rebellion of Grant Gym, to be discussed only in whisper and rumor.

El Sasquatcho hurled himself bodily upon the nearest toilet, carefully tucked away in a well-constructed stall built to last nuclear disaster. This was fortunate, as a DEFCON Level Assplosion was nigh. He barely placed his overly furry posterior onto its preferred docking station, before the torrent of dark, foreboding ichors began spewing therefrom. The force was sufficient to send the large man’s feet skyward, his hands pressing on either side of the stall, holding a tenuous balance. This dump would not defeat him. He would not go gentle.

Unfortunately, he still wore his working headgear, vocal enhancer fully functional and projecting his scrambled voice in a manner that was quite monstrous. El Sasquatcho did not seem to notice, focused as he was on his battle. He began his counterattack as any good Luchador would, by issuing a challenge: “Nunca, foul demonshit! You cannot hope to prevail! LUCHA!!!”

His sputtering foe responded by fro-yo’ing a renewed blast, erupting its fury with the sound of an underwater chainsaw, wielded by an inexpert lumberjack. El Sasquatcho growled and bore down, forcing his will upon the entity of colonic mayhem. “…rrrrrrRRRRRAAAAAHHHH!!! Kneel before me, Cacafuego! You will submit before my massiveness! Tap out, I command you! SUBMIT!!!”

Then the burning began. The feeling of acid marbles forced from a toothpaste tube came rolling down; each cat’s-eye or masher sending rolling waves of growing discomfort through his strain-wracked form. It just kept coming, flowing like a river of all things vorpal – but from his ass. The seeming betrayl of his dietary change, ironically designed to make him healthier, hurt his feelings but simultaneously gave him great resolve. “Bastardo! I have looked into the eyes of suffering! YOU ARE NOTHING!”

The urgency of the noise issuing from his posterior reached a fevered pitch, now more the garbled screaming of a lamentably insane bull moose. El Sasquatcho, not to be defeated easily by anyone, let alone dinner, wrapped his fingers around the handicap assist rails to his sides, and lifted himself up from his lifeline toilet, crossing his legs in the lotus position and straightening his back. Despite resembling some manner of satanic yogi, this position gave him superior control of his core muscles and reliable aim. He growled with effort and pain, preparing to make his move.

“GRRRRRRRRAAAAAAH! Prepare to be pinned, Rectal Fiend! RrrrrRRRRRRRRR … One…. rrrRRRRRR …Two! Grrrraaahhhhgh THREE! EL SASQUATCHO WINS!!!”

In truth, there was more to come, but the fight had left his opponent. What remained, as the Bard said (Shakespeare, not the other one) was: “Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”. El Sasquatcho took meticulous effort on the cleanup, washed his hands and arms twice, and returned to the scene of the battle.

“You were a worthy adversary, and out of respect, I shall flush twice. Ole.”

He tapped the toilet handle with his foot (twice) and moved to rejoin the others. Glancing at the mirrors on his way out, he finally noticed that he was wearing his working headgear – the mask with the vocal augmentation. Maybe nobody noticed. He returned to the break room, reequipping himself as he came back across his gear. Nonchalantly, he entered the room, checking on the status of his favored meal. He was pleased to note his burritos were still warm, and he retrieved one, intent on enjoying himself regardless of his earlier struggle.

Partway through this burrito, he risked a look at the other Titans, staring at him with shocked (or amused) expressions. Understanding that the jig was up, he responded to their initial silence, “It fought bravely. You would give it proper honor to wait twenty minutes before entering the room.”

El Sasquatcho cleared his throat, took another bite, and tried like hell to change the subject. “Sooo… you guys talk about where you wanted to go while I was away?”

It had only been Isis' third day out in the real world but the ominous news still loomed over everyones head like the smog that clouds Gotham's streets. It was unsettling to say the least, but "for everyone there is an appointed time." She paid her respects in normal American fashion and left it in the past, save for sparks in her memory like this. Now was the time for her to get to know her new teammates and make Superman proud but the arduous training fated for her; she was definitely unprepared.

At times she had looked to the heavens and thought her wings a burden. She didn't realize what it meant till restraints were put on them. This was done voluntarily in order to focus her mind, body and balance. She could barely fly on her own; now she felt like a bird with clipped wings. All day she practiced; her only break being to eat and to study. Although she enjoyed literature and she was decent at math, the basic shapes in geometry didn't captivate her. She wished she could have attended school like a normal teenager but working with batman excited her ever since she heard talk of him working on a cloaking device. When she did go out (which was rare), it was only at night when she could go wandering the city without being noticed. The skyscrapers were her advantage; she could duck in and out of the shadows and wasn't discernible. In metropolis, she felt they were more used to unusual beings and tended to avoid causing a scene to avoid trouble.

Tonight, Isis felt slightly overwhelmed yet optimistic because she was less than a block away from the alleyway. As she grew closer, a chill ran up her spine. She could tell some of the people gathered were in a league of their own. Catching the end of their leader-to-be's speech, Isis nodded in approval as she moved to suit up but couldn't shake a foreboding feeling.

Chester almost did a face-palm when he heard Ves refer to Super Smash Bros as 'Smack Bros' and he couldn't help, but laugh.

"Okay, I'd love to play Smack Bros, but I don't this place has any video games so we'll have to go to an arcade" he said to her and wondered if the others would come and join. That was when El Sasquatcho came in with Tacos and Churro Bites that he apparently had picked up at a fast food restaurant. Chester's stomach then began to growl and he realized that he had eaten anything for lunch yet and the food looked good. Of course he had to withhold a bag of food to himself and Chester rolled his eyes, bigger people could so greedy, he thought to himself.

"Thanks Sasquatcho" he said to the Luchador and began to eat a burrito and taco. It was good and he was glad to get something in his stomach. Chester listened to furry man talk about how they needed to get to know each other and decided to fill him in on what they were planning to do.

"We've got a better activity in mind and it's playing video games. We're planning to go the arcade maybe sometime today and I think you might like Street Fighter" he explained to El Sasquatcho. Chester then saw the Luchador take off running to the bathroom and having watched enough TV and moves he knew what that meant. He tried to keep his mind off of the disgusting thought, but then the sound of El Sasquatcho's amplified roars and shouts could be heard and Chester almost lost his appetite.

"Oh Dios mío" he said in a very fake Mexican accent as joke. Then the Luchador returned and despite just a moment ago taking a crap of an insane size he still continued to eat.

“It fought bravely. You would give it proper honor to wait twenty minutes before entering the room.” Chester then buried his face in his arms on the table in exasperation before lifting his head to speak.

"For the love of God, don't talk about it! I'm still eating" he said with a stern voice.

Video games. It was almost like they were trying to pick things she couldn't do. She couldn't play on a home console, thumb sticks required a dexterity she simply didn't have anymore. Anything else would do, drinking on a street corner, hot wiring Blacklight Gang bikes, could even play some B-ball. She didn't fancy her chances against Ves but Caitlyn could still dunk on her till she learnt the rules weren't really the rules. Video games would win if put to the vote so she smiled and nodded, just to make things go more smoothly.

Bug continued to attack the internal surface of the bin, thumping it for every scrap of edible substance in there. Caitlyn honestly should have seen it coming, she'd spent a lot of time she'd usually be dumpster diving here training, a double whammy of calorie loss. She strayed to close to the bin while trying to be a civil human being and he'd latched on. It was useless straining against him, it would only slow him down and he'd be done soon anyway. Bug was done sooner than Caitlyn thought, no sooner had the smell of cheap Mexican hit her nose, Bug relinquished his grip on the trashcan, now almost entirely void of organic substances.

“Midnight snacking time, boys and girls! El Sasquatcho has brought a bounty of Tacos and Churro Bites!”

El Sasquatcho had laid a mountain of consumable items upon the kitchen table and Bug wanted all of it. Bug fired on all cylinders, flooding Caitlyn's blood stream with ghrelin, the hungry hormone. An all too familiar craving sensation built up and Caitlyn thought it about time to open negotiations."We'll eat some of the mexican food, but we're doing it my way"

"Hͥu̻̺̼͎̬̯̒ͯ̽͒́n̉̓̔ĝr̸̲͖̜̯̂̽̿ͪ̚ͅȳͮ̆͛̿͡.̜̙͖̜͍̆̌.̵͎̗̎̽̌̈́̏ͤ.͆ͫͥ̅͏̗̫̝͍͙.̈҉̼̜̣̻̲̗"

"Yes, I know. Look you remember last time? The Irish didn't take kindly to your manners and neither will this lot."

"Hͥu̻̺̼͎̬̯̒ͯ̽͒́n̉̓̔ĝr̸̲͖̜̯̂̽̿ͪ̚ͅȳͮ̆͛̿͡.̜̙͖̜͍̆̌.̵͎̗̎̽̌̈́̏ͤ.͆ͫͥ̅͏̗̫̝͍͙.̈҉̼̜̣̻̲̗"

"Try to eat the food yourself and they'll be no more I swear"

"Hͥu̻̺̼͎̬̯̒ͯ̽͒́n̉̓̔ĝr̸̲͖̜̯̂̽̿ͪ̚ͅȳͮ̆͛̿͡.̜̙͖̜͍̆̌.̵͎̗̎̽̌̈́̏ͤ.͆ͫͥ̅͏̗̫̝͍͙.̈҉̼̜̣̻̲̗"
Caitlyn hoped her inner monologue wasn't broadcast too much on her face, it was embarrassing enough she'd been carrying the bin and that she was about to demolish far more Mexican than a young lady should.

The Mexican was good, really good, but that could have just been her hypothalamus talking. The temptation to compete with El Sasquatcho's tempo and vigor was strong, but Caitlyn's steely nerves and gang hardened will helped her keep composure, maybe another time when the competition was official. She caught El Sasquatcho eye and gave a strong nod; by it he would understand how impressed and grateful Caitlyn was for his generous meal. She didn't vocalise her pleasure for it wasn't in her nature, but her mouth was also full.

Caitlyn was midway through inhaling a taco as politely as one could when El Sasquatcho interrupted himself and took off with a speed unusual for his size. The battle cries to come would strike fear into Huitzilopochtli himself. Caitlyn couldn't help but be paralyzed by the thought of a similar fate, she sat the taco down on the work surface she was perched on. The luchadore had started eating only moments before she did. She looked around the room, all eyes were transfixed on the door through which the guttural noises of an arena champion emanated. She wrapped her fingers round the edge of the work surface with one hand and slyly polished off the half-taco on the surface with the other. She was trapped, to leave for the bathrooms was to sacrifice all dignity but to stay was social suicide if worst came to worst. She had to wait till El Sasquatcho's cubicle battle royale to the death was not just over, but out of recent memory. That could be weeks. Caitlyn checked the clock, her time was running out. Maybe she was alright, it could have easily been something he'd bought specially for himself, no one else seemed to be suffering. No one else had eaten as much as them either. This was all Bug's fault, if it wasn't for his insatiable appetite she wouldn't be in this mess. And why does he get this much say anyway? This was her body, hes a tool to be used at her whim. The resulting embarrassment was going to weeks long of teasing, maybe even a career long, what if she couldn't shake it off. That'll do wonders for her reputation. Time had passed and nothing had changed but the ferocity and volume of El Sasquatcho's personal Pearl Harbor, Caitlyn was still a time bomb waiting to go off. Bug I'll do anything if you'll help me out here, I'll feed you, I'll let you go mad in a dumpster 3 times a week if you just don't let this happen.

It was going to happen. It was going to be embarrassing regardless of what she did, she'd made her choices and she was ready for the consequences. Caitlyn accepted the fate and made peace with the Gastro Gods that had woven it for her.

El Sasquatcho reentered the room and saw fit to pretend nothing had occurred, Caitlyn too returned to picking at chips. A little longer and she could escape, unjudged by her peers. But it was her colleges that betrayed her, there expressions told Sasquatcho everything.

“It fought bravely. You would give it proper honor to wait twenty minutes before entering the room.”

Nooooooo! Why? We could have all pretended, returned to the previous conversation and Caitlyn would be out scot free. Oh God, now the awkwardness would linger further.

"For the love of God, don't talk about it! I'm still eating"

Nooooooo! For the love of all that is holy don't even mention it! Then she felt it. The movement of air in her digestive system. The relaxation of gastrointestinal muscles. The build up. Doom cometh, pray that it be a merciful and swift death.

Caitlyn let out a short stifled

“Sooo… you guys talk about where you wanted to go while I was away?”

"The arcade, Ves wants to see some of the glory of the modern era." Caitlyn remarked as she cleaned her face with a paper serviette. Crisis averted, for now.

Archer only paid half-attention to the conversations going on as he entered the gym. Something about an arcade, as far as he could tell. If they wanted to play hooky risk the wrath of Wildcat, then that was their business. Archer had already got off to a bad start with Wildcat the night they met and he wasn't about risk making things worse. Nope, instead he just went to training room. True to the name of the place, it really was a gym, complete with boxing arena. Of course, it also had aspects that set it apart from other mere gyms. Namely the presence of basic robots programmed to spar with a human partner to help them train.

Archer started one up at a low setting, and got in the ring with it. He didn't exactly fair well, the bot was still kicking his ass even after training with it daily for nearly a week. Sometimes he wondered if he was even cut out for the whole martial arts thing, but only briefly, because he always got right back up and tried again. He figured he'd have to beat the thing sooner or later if he just kept trying. It was just a matter of going at it so much that he started memorizing the patterns, like taking out those really tough A.I. opponents in video games. Sure, they seemed insurmountable, but they always followed a programmed pattern, and once a player learned those patterns that was it for their A.I. opponent. This, at least Archer thought, shouldn't be any different. The bot still kicked his butt yet again, but Archer could swear he was starting to last longer against it than he did starting out, which of course meant progress.

By this point, El Sasquatcho had arrived with food for everyone. Everyone was now eating, except of course for Archer. He was still in the ring, repeated challenging the bot and repeatedly getting knocked on his ass, deciding to skip out on dinner since he didn't feel very hungry anyway. He stopped fighting the bot long enough to listen to El Sasquatcho's... "battle" for lack of a better term. Suddenly he was glad he skipped out on eating dinner. When he returned to his match against the bot, something a bit different happened this time around. He started remembering that night, hearing it replay in his head. That's when the bot in front of him suddenly didn't look like the bot anymore, it looked like Deadshot, taking aim at Archer as if ready to finish what he started.

The scream could be heard clear from the kitchen and dining area where everyone else was. That sound was followed up by the sound of an object getting broken down and torn apart. Anyone who investigated the matter would show up in the training area in time to see Archer knelt over the training bot repeated thrusting a ice javelin in its neck until the head just tore off and the whole thing shut down. Archer himself was sweating, something an ice metahuman like him rarely did. He seemed to slowly come to and drop the ice javelin on the ring, it quickly melting away due to being created by his powers.

El Sasquatcho, somewhat recovered from his colonic struggle, attempted to readdress the conversation he was almost in prior to his hasty exit. He looked to Chester, pointing with a tortilla chip to emphasize his words.

"Senor Rat Whisperer," he intoned respectfully, "El Sasquatcho is familiar with the Street Fighter series of games. Mostly, preferring to fight with the large Russian wrestler or the green Brazilian who electrocutes his adversaries. Good combos."

He started to slow down the assault on his ethnic-inspired goodies, his bag about halfway emptied and the edge of his hunger blunted somewhat. The culinary hiatus gave him a little more opportunity to expand upon his earlier thought. "An arcade experience of particular delight is Dance Dance Revolución. El Sasquatcho does enjoy rhythmically shaking himself in front of total strangers for the approval of digital lollipop anime kids. No buttons upon which to make one's thumbs sore."

A ways into observing the conversational exchanges around the break room table, the burly luchador looked over to the moderately distressed Caitlyn, and prodded an unopened box slightly nearer to her. "Psst... If you're still hungry after this, nobody's touched the rice." He then returned to his own meal.

That is, until the ruckus in the training area. El Sasquatcho pulled down his mask fully and filed out to investigate with the rest of the interested parties. He looked to the scene with a touch of both understanding and annoyance - he had hoped to destroy one of those damnedable machines himself, just as soon as he could beat it at at its own game, preferably at a high level of difficulty. Seemed wasteful, but everyone grieved in their own way. El Sasquatcho's grief generally involved acts of extroversion and comfort foods. He nodded at his fellow neophyte Titan, and returned to the break room.

Before getting back to his own repast, he pulled a number of choice items aside and bagged them, then moved to locate a writing utensil. With a fat, black, magic marker, he wrote in block letters, "Ice-Guy, whenever you're ready to eat. -Us". He deposited it in a very obvious spot.

For a moment, he had the odd feeling that this was less of a team of heroes, and more of a Metahuman support group. They were all broken, one way or another. The catastrophe with Robin just gave them a reason to come together. Maybe it was time to begin supporting each other.

Chester was about respond to El Sasquatcho's reply when he heard Caitlyn burp and he gave her a surprised look. Two teammates with not very good eating habits, our arch nemesis might become obesity if we keep this up, he thought to himself and then continued with responding to the Luchador's reply.

"Zangief and Blanka are fine, but Ken, Guy and Evil Ryu are where it's at" Chester said to him with a smile. He rolled his eyes when he heard the large furry man talk about liking Dance Dance Revolution, now there was an arcade game that Chester could do without playing.

"I'm not much of a fan of Dance Dance Revolution, it just doesn't-" he was cut off by Zero's scream and almost immediately jumped to his feet knocking a taco off the table. His enhanced hearing gave him more of an idea of where it came from and turned to the others.

"That came from the training room" he said to them as he quickly hurried in that direction alongside El Sasquatcho. When Chester got there he saw Archer repeatedly stabbing a destroyed training bot with what looked like a javelin made of ice. His mind could only give him an idea that Zero's sudden outcry might be an aftereffect of seeing Robin, but still this kind of outburst was just plain disturbing.

"Hay buddy, I understand that some of us at times just want to go all Jack The Ripper when something horrible has happened, but having a psychotic break is not going to sit well with Bats and the Feline" Chester said to him. He then followed his Luchador teammate back to the lunchroom and watched El Sasquatcho write a note to the ice hero and couldn't see what it said since he wasn't close enough to read it, but he placed on top of some food he saved, which Chester guessed was for Archer if he decided to join them.

"I think he could use some chocolate, got any Mexican hot-chocolate?" he asked the Luchador. Chester had heard somewhere that Chocolate made people feel better.

"No, no... The chocolate is seasonal. El Sasquatcho will not be able to procure it from the Taco Hut until the middle of October. At that time, we have the option of Cayenne or Pumpkin Spice. It is muy dark, thick, and lovely; not unlike the lucky young lady El Sasquatcho escorted to his junior prom."

El Sasquatcho ponders on the question of chocolate briefly, and thrusts his finger into the air with a wordless exclamation. "Aha! There reside elements of the semi-sweet goodness on the Churro Bites! Perhaps if we leave a trail of them to the break room, Senor Zero will be drawn away from the site of his robotcide!"

"If nothing else, let us do something. We've been training for days."

, "El Sasquatcho is familiar with the Street Fighter series of games. Mostly, preferring to fight with the large Russian wrestler or the green Brazilian who electrocutes his adversaries. Good combos."

"Zangief and Blanka are fine, but Ken, Guy and Evil Ryu are where it's at"

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, this lot went on about Street Fighter too? How popular could this toy really be? Caitlyn knew what was going to happen next, it always happened between men and their hobbies, they could talk strategy and counter-strategy, like some battle of wits was taking place, for longer than they would actually engage in the hobby.

"Oh, Zangeif has superior wake up combo into Super and overall better frame data"
"What does that matter? Ree-you has better zoning and poke options, you'll never get close"
"Both Zangeif and Ree-you are inferior Dudley, whos neutral heavy jab into forward heavy jab footsies out perform almost all other moves, and he can counter fireballs"
"Are you insane? Dudley's hitbox is retarded and extends 2 feet infront of him, his profile is to big, he's hit by even the shittiest low kicks"
"All his moves combo into Machine Gun Punch and the EX version is a stage dive, you can't get close without the punish and there is nothing you can do about Rolling Thunder"
"Look, if were talking Ultras Able wins, its a guranteed hit and removes half your health"

Yada-yada-yada. And this wasn't exclusive to Street Fighter either, cars, guns, anything with moving parts, real or imaginary. Everything has to be a competition.

"Psst... If you're still hungry after this, nobody's touched the rice." He then returned to his own meal.

Caitlyn was still kinda hungry and rice would be the perfect carbohydrate dense dish to satify herself and Bug. She was dishing herself up when Zero started screaming from the gym. She poked her head round the door to make sure everything was alright. Zero had gone mental and bad touched one of the holo-droids big time. Dude needed to calm down, he'd taken Robin's death really badly.Don't get me wrong, what happened that night was horrifying but shouldn't have left this much of an impact. Its not like they'd known Robin, known of sure, but actually known the person? Caitlyn had sympathy of Zero, but not empathy, he needed to pull himself to together.

Caitlyn wished she could have done more for him that night, but she wasn't a brawler. The honorable thing would have been to get laid out by Multiplex and hope they no interest in silly things like "loose ends", but it wasn't the clever thing to do. The clever thing to do was to disappear before she herself was on the recieving end of Deadshot, especially when well aimed bullets were a particular weakness of hers.

"No, no... The chocolate is seasonal. El Sasquatcho will not be able to procure it from the Taco Hut until the middle of October. At that time, we have the option of Cayenne or Pumpkin Spice. It is muy dark, thick, and lovely; not unlike the lucky young lady El Sasquatcho escorted to his junior prom."

Imagining El Sasquatcho as any younger than he was now was genuinely impossible. Caitlyn's face contorted as she struggled with the concept. Less broad, less hairy and maybe shorter? It was impossible. Caitlyn tried to force those paradoxical thoughts out of her mind lest she break something in there and went back to spooning out rice for herself. As she hopped back onto the counter, El Sasquatcho continued.

"If nothing else, let us do something. We've been training for days."

"Arcade it is then, we can go a soon as everyones ready"