An escaped alien prisoner stranded far away from home. A young genius stolen away to Apokolips and warped into an abomination before finding his way back. A mask without a name or face living as a corporate tool. A mutant having escaped the cult that still has his parents in their captivity. The progeny of an inter-dimensional tyrant who will herald in the Earth’s end. All under the thumb of a Roxxon Public Relations Manager who sees the opportunity to make all sorts of gains through taking advantage of these troubled youths. They are the Teen Titans.

Needless to say, these Titans are not a team, not yet. Right now they are stragglers who will come to find one another through circumstance, eventually being scooped up by their sponsor, Morgan Edge, in a bold publicity stunt. Under a public eye they’re meant to appeal too they’ll fight their battles and come to grow closer to one another and gradually work through their damage. A past that haunts them, they live in a present world of mounting chaos, and hold a future none could ever predict.

The following is non-canonical and would be fleshed out if it were to be a part of the Titan’s story. As of now it’s merely a proof of concept to offer a picture of their general dynamic as a team.

An ear splitting groan creaked throughout the Los Angeles industrial district. The night was lit from many a small flames from all about the chemical refinery. News helicopters fluttered about like vultures, waiting for bodies to consume for their headlines. The groan echoed, the building buckled, then burst. A torrent of violet sludge erupted, first slipping, then shaping. It was joined by a glint of silver that plummeted with a reflexive scream, landing with a crash as asphalt broke away, the metal body unmarred.

“You good, buddy?” a voice came over his comm system.

As he let most of the ooze slop out of his mouth, the orifice tingling as his cleaning systems did their work to nullify any toxic or corrosive agents, Cyborg insisted, “Never been more glad to not have a sense of taste or smell, let’s say that.”

“Thaaaat’s the spirit.” There was a flash of green, a hawk shooting from the window. Beast Boy had a metal vial in his claws, and the purple mass lurched after him, forming a hand as if to pluck the bird from the sky. “Oh, so you do want this!”

“Ä̷̺͉́͑ź̷̮̻a̴̫̎͘r̸͓̺̕ǎ̷̲͝ẗ̷̼́͐ͅh̸̯̰̏̃ ̸͍̖͌̕M̸̫̆ě̴̫t̸̘̯̒r̴̬̙̈i̷̧̯͑̅o̷̻͋n̸̞̫̅͛ ̶̻̠̊Z̴̥͑ǐ̷̧̛n̶͙̊̆t̸͖͗h̶̝̐̊o̷͚͠s̸̪̗̋̈́!̸̢̡̤̘́͜” With words beyond the tongue of mortals, there was a rupture like a wave breaking against a shore, the purple mess splinting as a thin black mass like a spectral blade ripped through it. Beast Boy slowed down, flapping his wings as he hovered by Raven, who floated herself to his level. With a wave of her hand, the vial sunk into a blackness before being flung into the distance.

“Uh, did we need that?”

Purple mass of Plasmus shifting underneath them to follow, Raven murmured, “This place is set for demolition. There’s shouldn’t be anything important here.”

As the vial flew towards the edge of the compound, a black cape fluttered, the metal vial being plucked from the air. “Anything unusual should be investigated, especially if it can help us stop this monster.” Palm trained on the encroaching mass, Red X fired a few crimson crosses, the Xenothium meeting the muck before discharging energy, smoke billowing and a low scream rumbling. “Do we have signs of the main body? There must be a center.”

Raven opened her mouth, but a shrill battle cry came over the comms, then a burst of destruction and distortion. Another section of the complex erupted, green flashes piercing through the air, each blast blowing out the muck, each one piercing a bubble that looked like acid, the congregation on unlike the eyes of an insect. “Taste my fury, enemy of humanity!” Starfire jeered, smile wide as her bolts peppered the monster. The green bubbles of acid started to form throughout the whole body, fumes hissing from the building as its innards gradually began to melt.

“It mutated again?” X glanced down at the vial in his hands before stating, “I suspect we found the catalyst of this incident.”

Sonic cannon blasting back the mass, Cyborg growled, “Thank goodness for the diligence and integrity of our sponsors.”

“I can still hear you all!” their benefactor shouted from the safety of some office miles away. Morgan Edge grumbled, “Whatever, it’s not like you’re wrong. Just get in there and take the baddie out. Cy, set up some cameras and get a good team shot while you’re at it!”

Rolling his one humanoid eye, Cyborg cleared the area as the others came down, Beast Boy and Raven floating in moments before Starfire swooped by, Red X following suit and dropping down once he could as BB returned to his human form. Recognizing them as a threat, Plasmus gathered itself, the mass seeming to be endless at it continued to gurgle and spout its way out of the building, going higher and higher as it started to shape into a giant, its lower sections breaking down and reforming as it struggled to bear the weight of its own body.

“Have we decided a plan of attack, or shall we ‘go wild’, as it is said?”

“It-”

“Cyborg, can you use sonar or some other means of detection to find anything out of place in its makeup?”

“Th-”

“I’ve been trying, but no luck so far. It has too many dense areas, but if we start with those, then...”

“...”

“Can we let the lady speak, fellas?”

Mouths went shut, and all eyes turned to Raven. “I can detect exactly where its consciousness is coming from. I could ever since we got here.”

The group erupted into protest. “OH COME ON!” “And you failed to mention this until now?” “Wonderful job!” “Aw gee that’d have been great to know. “This mission has been underway for hours.” “We have hope even still!” “Before he slimed me!” “Actually, I take it back.” “Explain yourself.” “Peak comic timing.” “Hmm, yes, the delay is curious.”

Raven was completely unaffected, her face as placid as ever. When the four of them finally calmed down, she bit back, “No one asked.”
_{“Disappointing.”}

The banter was cut down buy a growl. Proportionally it was like a low murmur, but it rumbled the chests of all five Titans. Plasmus’s form had stabilized. Two massive, hulking arms, two stubby legs, a wide mouth complete with the shape of teeth, a head crowned with pustules of acid like spots on a mushroom. Their brief moment of downtime had left them. They shifted to battle poses at Red X’s words.

“Alright. We follow Raven’s lead. Titans: move-”

_*click*

“Together!”

The story of Marc Spector is a simple one.

Idiot kid endeavors to become something more than himself and joins the greatest institution for world peace, or so he was told. In the military arm of the United States he becomes a weapon for his country but loses his soul along the way and it ends up with him being shot in the back in the middle of the desert by someone he thought he trusted. An ancient entity that resembles the moon god of Khonsu resurrects him and molds his mind into a weapon of vengeance and a prophet of order. It splinters his brain into five million pieces. He survives the desert, but when he comes home to New York City things are not quite the same.

With his new responsibilities and a brain that is tooling between madness and virtue he does the only thing he has ever know how to do: fight for those who cannot.

New York City.

It is a cancer, an irreversible rot of corruption, decay, and hopelessness. It’s also a beacon of hope, industry, and progress. It is like the crescent moon, both bright and swallowed in the coldness of the dusk. It is my home. It is my domain.



“You’ve been drinking too much again.”

Marlene’s voice is stern. Annoyed. She signed up for crazy, but not for stupid.

I can’t help but think she’s right, but for me it all helps. Khonshu has damned me with bleak, indiscerptible visions that point toward what must be done. Downing a few bottles of vodka is peace of mind.

“Can’t be helped. Makes the visions clearer.”

“Better or easier?”

“Yeah.”

A quick conciliation. Alcohol doesn’t make the visions easier to understand, it makes them easier to cope with. My brain is already twisted and broken, there’s nothing the alcohol will do that’s worse than cosmic magic or processing the tongue of a being that’s beyond human comprehension and wills.

“I will try.”

“To?”

“Go easier with it.”

She sighs before clasping the two bottles in front of her and tossing them in the bin next to her. “Marc… you’ve got to keep a clear head or you’ll make a mistake and–”

“Khonshu might not bail me out again. I know.”

There's a popular ghost story that makes the rounds in the stretches of desert between Fort Worth and Phoenix, as far north as Santa Fe and as far south as Durango. The story's about an old gunfighter by the name of Jonah, a man so ugly that the half of his face that was burned off by the Apaches was considered his 'pretty' side. A man so ornery that even cultists and child-killers called him a monster. A man that some folks say sold his soul to the Devil himself so his guns would never miss. The truth is, Jonah Hex's soul belonged to the Devil from the day he came into this world.

Born to a mother who died giving birth, raised by a drunken bastard with a black heart, sold to the Apaches for whiskey and used as a slave, then riding as a butchering marauder for the Confederates, Jonah's life was one that only knew suffering and sin, taking his share of hurt and learning how to deal some in return. It wasn't until his officers ordered him to burn a church filled with unarmed townsfolk that he'd felt any kind of shame or remorse for what he'd done, and Hex deserted in the wake of the massacre. He prayed for any kind of redemption, anything to clean the stains from his soul, and while Jonah never got his answer from on high, he got one from down below....

The stories say Jonah Hex made a deal with the Devil (or someone on the Devil's dime), to find souls in the world more wretched than his own and drag them down to Hell in order to pay off his debts and earn his salvation. They say he became the Ghost Rider, a spirit of vengeance, a bounty hunter of the damned, doomed forever to ride the length and breadth of the desert to burn away the wicked. And some folks say that for near on 160 years, a string of killings along the Rio Grande have all had a few interesting features in common: a smell of sulfur in the air, bullet holes without bullets, and tracks that look like horseshoes burned into the ground. Some say the wayward soul of Jonah Hex still rides across the West, carrying out his fool's errand, trying to kill his way to Heaven....

The son of King Thar of Shayeris and Queen Berra of Crastinus, Garth represents the new hope that is the United Kingdom of Shayeris and Crastinus, one of the twelve undersea kingdoms that comprise Poseidonis. Under the tutelage of the High Mage, Vulko, Garth is coming of age in a realm of magic that stands in firm opposition to Venturia’s warmongering. This has thrust the boy into the midst of undersea politics he doesn’t yet understand, as his uncle, Slizzath, conspires to bring about events that will propel him to power at great cost to life both above and below the surface.

As the United States prepares to sink the aircraft carrier USS Trafalgar with the stated goal of creating an artificial reef, events are set into motion that will upend Garth’s royal life and ask the question of whether one boy alone can stop the tide of war with the surface.