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Raven of the Teen Titans stood at the designated coordinates on the outskirts of Gotham City. She could only thank the stars it wasn’t Gotham City.
She had teleported here directly from Titan Tower, arriving at these exact coordinates. Before she left, Nightwing—formerly Robin—had briefed her on the route they would take and all the safe places to teleport within a few kilometres in case of emergency. He was worried about the Brotherhood of Evil and had contacted every hero he could, with powers and without: anyone who genuinely wanted to help people.
On the way, Raven had quickly scanned the suggested locations. As expected, one was in Gotham City itself: the big gargoyle, the “treasure of the night.” In her empathic opinion, it was as close to a hellhole as a city on Earth could get.
Ah, Gotham. The city rising from eternal shadow, scraping the night sky.*
To Raven, it felt broken. A city that had once been architecturally astounding, now sucked dry — its establishments crumbling and useless, overtaken by criminal elements intent on harming people.
But it was also where Robin was from. No. The people who had given her friend shelter, who were protected by him, could not be ruined beyond saving.
There was the other Gotham, too—the one where the night sky teemed with a melancholy Raven sometimes couldn’t stand. Her one proper visit, years ago, was still too much. Robin had said Cyborg’s security system had identified a 70% spotting of Red X. That had been a few years ago, and still the memory lingered.
Raven’s hand went to her belt and she unhooked her comm.
The location was correct.
So was the time.
The briefing had been cut short due to a criminal alert, and this escort was time‑sensitive. Raven had only abbreviated facts. Robin enjoyed giving as much detail as possible, so who knew how much mission‑vital information she was missing because the boy liked to yammer and the city had called at the wrong time.
I sigh.
Check coordinates again.
Squeeze my eyes shut. Open them again.
“Violence is overrated,” she murmured. “I often find mental anguish more excruciating. And I can usually help with both.”
At twenty‑one—her birthday had been a few days ago—she could say she’d moved on from the cynical, nihilistic outlook she once had. Overcoming a prophecy that promised death at sixteen would do that to you.
With her father successfully defeated, his essence of despair burst into infinite Misal particles sprinkled across the universe. Raven was free to choose her own destiny. She realized she wished to stay with her friends, to continue doing what they did: be good neighbours, protect people, and stop those who wished to harm others.
But after five years of the same, a global network of the worst adversaries seemed to be banding together into a massive threat. Tired of being thwarted time and again, multiple groups of supervillains—the leadership of practical planners across the world—had begun kidnapping heroes. That was the conclusion the Titans reached after multiple failures to respond and missed check‑ins.
Richard and Victor had worked day and night to find those with power, those who would be targeted by this conglomerate of evil.
The sky was blue, full of fat clouds propelled across the star‑garden by a beautiful night breeze.
A bus stopped.
It was safest to travel at night, when the darnkess hids us.
The doors creaked, swinging open—and then nothing. No one got out.
Raven stood, watching intently. When the gates closed again, she could feel emotions from multiple origins leaving, moving away from her. But it took half a minute for her to realize one quiet presence, as if underwater to her empathy, remained.
Raven struggled with her composure as the presence proceeded to hide from her sight.
A moment elapses, that takes years.
Known for her stoicism, Raven’s granite eyes burn, bright with tears. She recognises the feel of the presence hiding from her.
It FEELS like an older, mature, just as playful and competent thief‑turned‑dubious‑ally: Red X.
A dizzying rush of memories, moments, emotions, prejudices, scars, friendship, and tears played over Raven’s empathy at subliminal speeds. She’d trained for this—hiding behind her stoicism, Raven parses through the abundance of knowledge thrust upon her.
What she found was this: Red X had reinvented himself, like Nightwing. He was now known as Red Hood. He had probably been sent to assist her—or, on his own, acquiring information through similar channels, had decided to help these kids out.
Siblings. A girl, a boy, and a toddler. All with unique abilities. Targeted not as people, but as useful, necessary tools.
Raven remembered that about Red X. He was a thief, but he didn’t want to see anyone unnecessarily hurt. There was a drive to survive. This, Raven understood. She, who had been prophesied to die in service of bringing about the end of the world.
There had always been something about his particular cocktail of emotions that Raven found provocative. And then, the year they turned seventeen, he disappeared into the ether.
That fateful trip to Gotham had been more about Dick checking on their unlikely ally than any burning need for justice.
The irony was not lost on Raven.
In Jump City, the Titans worked with local law enforcement. There were the police, and then there was the specialized unit for people with powers—modified and changed humanoids, monsters, and magic. The Titans consulted with that elite team.
The same was not true for Gotham. Their masked good Samaritans were called vigilantes. Their actions of stopping crime were considered violations of civil and criminal law.
This was why she disliked Gotham. They let corporations pollute the air and water, destroy ecosystems, and then punished those who tried to stop the ecological disaster—calling them insane, locking them up, inflaming their breakdowns, tormenting the mentally ill.
As Raven made ready to acknowledge Red Hood, three children exited a pickup truck. It was parked, full of dust. A girl about six or seven years old. A boy no more than four. And a toddler, possibly a year and a half old, holding a stuffed toy.
The siblings had arrived.
Raven searched his mind for his full name. As she could see his mind, she could see through his eyes when he looked in the mirror while selecting his clothes. He wore sturdy boots, tan six‑pocket pants, a black muscle T‑shirt with lightweight, flexible armour underneath. A brown biker jacket, unzipped, collar popped, completed the look.
In his memory, she watched him choose a shoulder holster. The reason for the jacket became clear. She watched him load the cartridge with rubber bullets, then check the gun under his arm at his side. She watched him put two loaded clips in a pouch on his belt at his lower back, and two more in a secret compartment inside the jacket.
She walked forward to greet the children and introduced herself as Raven of the Titans. The eldest, the girl, introduced her siblings and then herself.
Raven felt Red Hood make a decision to reveal himself. She had a name in her mind and refrained from using it. It didn’t do to reveal the full extent of your power to an unlikely ally.
Helmet under his arm, he towered over the kids—and over Raven, too. He hadn’t been there a moment ago; she had felt him only through her empathy until he appeared in her peripheral vision, introducing himself with an alias.
“Hi, I’m Jace,” he said, a slight smile at the corner of his lips. It was disarming, with a dimple peeking near his chin.
The tall, broad man, with dusky skin, deep blue smiling eyes, and a slim waist, radiated trustworthiness. Somehow, occupying very little place, while a presence like his could easly be overwhelming, suffocating. Jason Todd did not let his size define him.
The toddler—Teether—gurgled because he took wobbly, large steps, ill‑fitting onesie dragging in the dirt, and wrapped his hands around Jace’s tree‑trunk‑sized leg.
The elder sister—Melvin—looked reassured and didn’t make a move to stop him.
“My name is Melvin,” the girl said again to Jace, steady despite everything. “This is my brother, Timmy Tantrum, and our little brother, Teether.”
Raven’s communicator beeped just then. She shifted her eyes, quick, and caught the words; “Nightwing: I’ve sent Help. The kids are being pursued.”
A chill ran down her spine. She could feel obsidian malice ripple the air.
Well, Raven thought, now I have the kids. I have the help. And we’ll have to figure out how to deal with the pursuit.