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The morning light over Jump City is a pale, hesitant gray, filtering through the reinforced glass of Titans Tower like it’s afraid to interrupt the silence. Inside the operations center, the atmosphere is heavy with the clinical hum of machinery and the sharp, ozone scent of high-end electronics. On the primary computer console, a neon-blue bar graph crawls across a black screen with agonizing precision. It flickers as it reaches ninety-nine percent, the digital heartbeat of a complex de-fragmentation process.
As the camera of the mind's eye pulls back, the sheer scale of the operation becomes clear. The core of Slade's probe system—a horrific web of nanoscopic malice—has been painstakingly isolated and wired into the Tower's mainframes. In the center of the room, Beast Boy is practically swallowed by the tech. He sits in a specialized medical chair, tubes and fiber-optic cables snaking around his green limbs like digital vines. A heavy, translucent respiratory mask is clamped over his face, glowing faintly as it monitors his vitals for any sign of a Slade-induced flare-up.
"Am I done yet?" Beast Boy’s voice is a muffled, nasal whine behind the plastic. He shifts his weight, the equipment rattling with every movement. "Seriously, I feel like a science project. Is my blood still green, or is it just binary code now?"
Standing a few feet away, Robin is finally dressed in his proper uniform—the red, yellow, and green a vibrant contrast to the dark, monochromatic armor he was forced to wear as Slade’s apprentice. He stands with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the massive window-screen. Beside him, Cyborg, Starfire, and Raven watch a magnified, microscopic view of a single drop of Beast Boy's blood. The screen is clear, showing only healthy, vibrant cells pulsing with natural life. There isn't a single silver glint or jagged edge of a nanobot in sight.
Cyborg lets out a long, shuddering breath that sounds like a hydraulic release. He taps a final command into his forearm plate, and the bar graph on the main screen hits one hundred percent before dissolving into a "CLEAN" notification in bold letters.
"That's it, y'all," Cyborg says, his voice booming with a mixture of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated triumph. He turns to the group, a massive grin splitting his metallic features. "The Teen Titans are officially probe-free. Every last one of those bugs is fried."
The reaction is instantaneous. Beast Boy doesn't wait for a technician or a gentle disconnect. He lets out a boisterous, high-pitched laugh that echoes off the vaulted ceiling and launches himself out of the chair. He’s a blur of green energy, trailing assorted hardware and loose sensors behind him like the tail of a comet. He hits the floor and immediately breaks into a frantic, celebratory victory dance.
"Go, Beast Boy! You're probe-less!" he chants, shimmying his shoulders so fast his head stays perfectly still. He transitions into a smooth, sliding moonwalk across the polished floor, dragging a stray EKG lead with him. "No probes now! Go, Beast Boy! Go, Beast Boy! Get fun-kay! Uh! Yeah! Uh, uh, that's right!"
He’s a whirlwind of motion, his joy so infectious it briefly cuts through the lingering trauma of the past few days. Raven watches him with her usual deadpan expression, though the corners of her mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. She looks at Robin’s relieved face, then back at the green goofball currently trying to do a headspin while still partially tethered to a server.
"Um..." Raven begins, her voice low and cautious. "I know this isn't exactly my style, but we just kicked Slade's butt and didn't explode. Shouldn't we celebrate or something? Like, with more than just... whatever that is?" She gestures vaguely at Beast Boy's chaotic flailing.
Robin and Cyborg stop mid-thought, staring at her with wide, incredulous eyes. The idea of Raven—the mistress of "not caring"—suggesting a party is enough to give them more whiplash than the actual fight with Slade. But the silence doesn't last long. Before Raven can retract the statement, Beast Boy sheds the last of his equipment like a snake losing its skin and leaps into the air. He lands perfectly on Cyborg's massive shoulders, his knees hooked around the metal plating.
"Yeah!" Beast Boy shouts, his face inches from Raven’s. He leans forward, hanging upside down from Cyborg’s neck to stare the big man directly in his bionic eye. His eyes are wide, glowing with a manic, hungry light that Cyborg knows all too well.
Cyborg catches the vibe instantly. The tension of the last week—the fear of losing Robin, the pain of the probes, the constant threat of Slade—melts away, replaced by the one thing that always brings them back together.
"All-you-can-eat..." Cyborg starts, his voice dropping into a dramatic, rhythmic baritone.
"Free-form..." Beast Boy adds, his voice rising in an excited crescendo.
"BREAKFAST EXPLOSION!" they roar in unison, the sound vibrating through the entire floor.
Raven sighs, her hood casting a shadow over her face as she realizes what she's unleashed. "Sorry I asked," she mutters, though she doesn't move away.
The two laughing cooks don't give her a choice. Cyborg hooks one massive arm around Raven’s waist, while Beast Boy grabs her hand, and they sprint toward the kitchen. They move like a stampede, their laughter trailing behind them as they leave the operations center.
Left behind in the sudden quiet, Robin and Starfire remain by the couch. The morning sun finally breaks over the horizon, bathing the room in a warm, golden light.