Frankly, I'd absolutely love to tell you I own Teen Titans. But if I did, that would be lying, and liars go to hell. At least, that what my big sister says- and she'd know, she's throwing a huge party when she gets there.

"I thought you'd make a good yo-yo."

-Red X

The great summer heat wave that had broiled Jump City for a long, agonizing week finally subsided as a front of gloomy gray stormclouds smothered out the oppressive sun. While the dry heat of the sunlight was banished by overcast, the muggy humidity stubbornly remained. The cold breath of clouds and the thick sweat of hot air reacted less-than-civilly towards each other. The afternoon dim with a premature night, rain fell on Jump; announced by brilliant flashes and the drumbeats of thunder.

Joey (often referred as his charming nickname, "Weasel") Williams shrugged his battered duster over his head to ward off the rain's insistent patter. Old Town was already wet with a sheen of shattered raindrops, the decrepit refuse and filth of Jump's South Side turning to muddy grime. Weasel was a long standing resident of Old Town; at first glance just another crook scrounging along in the filthy arteries of Jump City's criminal heart. While considered above pervs and purse-snatchers, Weasel was still a second hand criminal. To just be a dime-a-dozen middleman was Joey's old, dusty ambition.

But he survived, which is more than the fading chalk outlines on the sidewalk could say. The long arm of the Law aimed higher than dirt like him- no one really bothers with the rat in the mud. A heavy drawback of living in the mud, however, was that sometimes you got stepped on.

Crossing the fringes of unfriendly gang territory, Weasel took a detour through a narrow alleyway. Eager to be back in the leaking trash-heap he called home, Joey realized too late when he felt a tug at his ankle. He paused and stared dumbly down at the thin wire he had tripped over. "What the-?"

The world spun clockwise as something yanked at his foot, flipping him upside down like a hare caught in a trap. Weasel screams were outclassed by the thunder as he was pulled up by his leg, brick wall blurring past. Floors piled high beneath him, Weasel came to a jerking halt a full five stories above the ground. Displaced blood clogged his head with a migraine, struggling to make sense of the flipped image his eyes sent him. A shape cut from shadow's cloth perched itself easily on the slick railing of a fire escape, staring at him with black, hollow eyes. Its face was a dead-white skull, a Halloween Nightmare with an angry, criss-crossing crimson scar.

"Hey Weaz. How's it hangin'?" it chortled with an icy, electronically filtered voice.

Weasel recognized his captor instantly. "You!"

The skull tilted its head quizzically. "U? That's my mother's maiden name. It's 'X', remember?"

The crook waved his hands frantically. "What the hell is this?"

"I thought you'd make a good yo-yo."

The lifeline's tension loosening, Weasel screamed his throat hoarse as he plummeted five stories to the solid pavement below. His head a breath from meeting the ground, the line suddenly tautened, bobbing Weasel at the end of the rope before being speedily carried back up.

Weasel's gasped with empty lungs as X chuckled with twisted humor. "Now that looked fun! Wanna try 'Walk the Dog' next?"

"No!" the crook managed to croak desperately. "Please no!"

"Sure," X replied with an untailored shrug. "It's been a while since we've hung out, Weaz. How about we do some catching up?"

"I don't got shit to say to you!" he spat with little forethought.

"'Walk the dog' it is, then."

Weasel's lifeline giving way once again, the pounding thunder drowned out his terrified cries as he bobbled precariously at the end of his line. He was close to the ground this time, his hair dipped into the grimly puddles on the broken alleyway pavement. The torment seemed an eternity for the two-timing felon; life hanging at the edge of a rope, rising and falling over and over like he was on a broken elevator. Nearly at tears, Williams was finally carried all the way up back to his captor- properly humbled this time.

"Talking's cool!" Weasel squeaked quickly. "I've got no problem talkin', no, no, no! No problem at all!"

"Good boy," the thief said. X slid easily into a casual air; just another friendly, cheery chat with an old pal at the local coffee shop. "Is it just me," X wondered aloud, "or did I miss some kinda memo, Weaz?"

"Wa-what'chya mean by that?"

Seizing him roughly by the collar, Red-X pulled Weasel closer. "Don't even try your dumb-ass act with me Joey. You're not nearly as stupid as you look. Every damn crook in this city- banker robbers and pickpockets alike- all seemed to have gone on a little vacation."

"You…uh….didn't get the Union newsletter?" Weasel tried weakly.

"No," X hissed. "Why don't ya catch me up?"

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The rainstorm finally relented by the time the authorities arrived at the docks. Called in by scattered reports of heavy gunfire, Jump's finest responded with seasoned haste.

Only to arrive too late.

Being well past midnight, there was hardly a crowd of gawking civilians and milling news cameras; even so, the Police wasted no time cordoning off the crime scene with a perimeter of flimsy yellow tape and a vanguard of uniformed cops.

Fatigued and frustrated as hell, Detective Neils snorted with disgust and discarded the plastic mug of so-called coffee down the storm drain. Fumbling in the pockets of his raincoat for his pack of cigarettes, Neils leaned against his car and thumbed open his lighter as he glanced through the scene.

The harsh blue and reds of police lights spun cheerless atop the slumbering hulks of clustered police cars as the Crime Scene Unit carried on their grisly work. Powerful cameras flashed like mute lightning, small numbered signs bookmarking the thick carpet of spent shell casings littering the dockyard. Coroners knelt silently beside draped over sprawled human shapes, empty chalklines hinted a terrible story with its vacancy.

"You called me, Detective?"

Startled, Neils nearly choked on his cigarette. After a long series of wild coughs, he managed to hack it onto the ground instead of down his throat. "Do you have to sneak up on me every time?"

A thin boy crouched like a bird of prey on the roof of the Detective's car, a cape hanging off his shoulders like wings. Chuckling apologetically, Robin ran his fingers through the mess of black hair tangling his head. "Sorry. Bit of a habit." Detective Neils grunted bitterly at that as he dug through his pockets for another cigarette. "You shouldn't smoke those things anyway," the Titan pointed out. "They'll kill you."

"Only if I'm lucky," grumbled Neil.

"What's the situation here?"

"JCPD received multiple reports of heavy gunfire on the docks here about half-an hour ago. By the time the first officer's arrived on scene, the fighting was already over. Three dozen victims, most dead but others critically wounded."

"Smugglers?" Robin guessed.

"Oh yeah," Neils confirmed. "From the looks of it, we've stumbled on a massive smuggling ring running illegal weapons through Jump's Port Authority. All of it arranged by none other than Markus Czekarra."

Robin's eyebrow rose a pitch. "The Markus Czekarra? As in, the Russian ex-Spetsnaz running the international crime syndicate? That Markus Czekarra?"

"Do you know any others?"

"Uh…good point."

Heaving a sigh with the weight of long years, Neils took a long breath from his cigarette. "Czekarra's under a federal investigation right now. With his men caught right on the scene with smuggled contraband, it'll only be a matter of time until the FBI swoop in and seize the entire case out from under us."

The boy wonder shrugged. "Czekarra's an international criminal. What does it matter if the FBI is putting together a solid case? It's entirely within their jurisdiction."

"It's not that Russian merchant I'm worried about," the Detective said balefully. "It's the guy that eighty-sixed his boys."

Eyes behind his lenses narrowing, Robin swept his gaze studiously across the crime scene. Mentored since a boy to study the minutest details around him; small, telltale clues pieced themselves together in his mind. Blood splatter: sweeping up like a comma, the final resting places of the bodies: they grouped themselves together, trying to reassure the security in their numbers. The littered shellcasings spoke volumes about their firing position- ammo fired wildly in a panic. There was no indication of an exchange of gunfire. All these men had been working together, fighting against the same thing.

"There was only one attacker…" Robin realized. He ignored the familiar ache of his hand as he clenched it tightly (it was still sore from denting his workbench the night before).

Neils gave Robin a short 'what the hell are you talking about' look, then eyed the crime scene critically. "What the hell here tells you it was only one guy?"

Offered no response, Neils turned back to Robin.

Only to find that the boy had vanished without a single trace.

"Dammit. I hate it when he does that."

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"I don't know anything man, I swear!" Weasel insisted frenetically. "Why don't you shake down Keogh or Charles Z?"

"Already tried them," said X. "They won't buy hot merchandise or give me any Intel for new hits. Everyone's lips are sealed tight, so I came straight to the prettiest set of loose lips in town."

"It's a gag order man! Jump City's has to be a crime-free paradise for the next three days. Anyone caught breaking the order'll have a war on their ass!"

"What the hell kind of mob boss has the leverage to freeze every crook in Jump like that?" X asked. Something like that just didn't seem possible…

But the weasel shook his head. "Nah man, the Big Fish are on ice too. Even they wouldn't risk breakin' this thing."

"Do I look like a Mafioso to you?"

Joey's eyes bulged. X seriously couldn't be saying…just being connected to this maniac could be harmful to his health. "You can't be serious!"

"Nobody tells me when the hell I can or can't rip someone off," Red-X growled. "Who handed down the order?"

"You don't get it, man! This guy'll butcher you!"

"He can try. Who handed down the order?" But the little rat was too scared to answer. X would have to shift those fears somewhere more useful. The steel of X's sword sang a song of pure velvet as he slid it off his back. With a flick that outran the falling rain, X cut Williams' rope and caught the short end in his glove. "You're awful heavy, Weaz. Better talk fast before I loose my grip…"

His third time dangerously dangling five stories above the ground, you'd think the fella'd be used to it by now. "Oh PLEASE! Please don't let me fall!"

"Who!" X demanded.

Red-X prided himself with his skills as a thief. He had built a flawless reputation that was already the stuff of legend among circles of thieves and burglars. It was a profession that demanded artful skill, unbridled patience, meticulous planning, and- above all- the flexibility to roll and react to any unexpected snags that were known to happen in a job. X, however, was completely floored by the name screaming bloody murder out of Joey Williams' throat.

"Slade! It was Slade!"

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Considering it's been over a month since I last updated, I offer my biggest apologies to you guys. Things have been unbelievably frantic now that I've moved to college, not to mention the terrible bout of writer's block and insomnia. But don't worry All, I'm pretty much back to my old, psychotic self, so updates should be coming back at reasonable intervals again. Again, I can't say enough how sorry I am for taking this long. I hope this chapter makes up for it.

Any review, praise or flame, is always appreciated. Oh, and if you hadn't read any of the great Titan stories written by Guardiansaiyoko...what the hell're you waiting for? It's excellent stuff.

Begging for forgiveness,

-Cy