A/N: This story is just a test to see if people would be interested in it. I wasn't gonna post, but then I figured that I should on this day. Distract yourself from mr. ding dong with a short fic, and as a birthday present to me leave a review!

Chapter 1

6:34am

First hour

Dick awoke to silence.

He couldn't quite call his slumber true sleep—he spent most of his nights tossing and turning, unsure what was dream and reality. Everything blended together, save for those rare moments he caught sight of things stranger than his real life. Of shadowmen who sat at the foot of his bed, rustling the bedclothes while he lay there, immobilized, unable to do anything but endure.

Not that it differed much from his everyday life. He opened his eyes, crusted with sleep, and saw the unmoving gears above him. Dick shifted on the workbench, his back aching and his bones creaking. His throat felt coated in grease; he shouldn't fall asleep in the welding room. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He wiped it away, his other hand searching for a bottle of water.

"Wake up."

Several fluorescent lights flickered on, blinding him. Dick sat up, his head throbbing slightly, last night's inadequate sleep weighing down on him. He blinked at the lights, wondering why the gears weren't moving.

"Looking for this?" Slade handed him his water bottle, the metal top dented from years of abuse.

Dick grabbed it, uncapping it and chugging. Even the water here had a metallic taste, not quite washing away the constant grime hanging at the back of his throat.

"You stink. Take a shower." When Dick didn't move, Slade pulled him to his feet by the collar and shoved him towards the door. "Now."

The air conditioning hit him as he entered the hallway, and he became aware of the sweat plastering his shirt to his back, and how he smelled of gasoline. Dick made his way to the bathroom, ignoring his reflection as he turned on the shower. His hand rested on the fan, though he did not turn it on. Better to let the steam roll in, create mold problems. Whatever.

Once he finished, he leaned over the tub, plugging it up and allowing the tub to fill with clean water as far it would go. He shut the shower curtains. No one would think to shower until tomorrow morning.

He dressed quickly, choosing sensible clothing he wouldn't mind wearing for a few days—sweatpants, athletic top, a zip-up sweatshirt he hated. Today it didn't matter, so long as it kept him warm. Dick shaved quickly, silently wondering when he had grown enough to start. He rinsed the shaving cream from the razor, and pocketed it.

Dick took a deep breath, the warm steam from the shower calming him. There would be no turning back this time. The deed was already done, and even if he wanted to he couldn't stop events tumbling forward.

Exactly how he planned: chaotic.

He left the bathroom, propping the door open so whoever went in there next wouldn't complain about the foggy windows. Excess steam rolled into the hallway. He glanced down the hallways. Like Alfred, Wintergreen would know if he hadn't turned the bathroom fan on and would berate him. He couldn't have that. Not now.

Dick opened his bedroom door and tossed a bundle of dirty clothes onto his unmade bed. Didn't matter now. He left this door open too, shoving a steel-toed boot between the door and the doorframe. At this point the door didn't autolock anymore.

"You're late," Slade said as Dick made his way into the kitchen. "Stop sleeping in the welding room."

Dick pulled a bowl of bland oatmeal towards him, scanning the table for the bowl full of blueberries. "Not like I get enough sleep anywhere else."

Well, maybe he shouldn't have slept there. His back was aching something terrible, as though berating him for choosing a workbench over a perfectly good bed. It didn't matter where he slept anymore anyway—Slade just wanted to be a dick.

"However," Slade said slowly, considering each word, "you seem productive." He pulled a tablet resting on the table towards him, unlocking it swiftly. He accessed one of his many apps—jerk didn't even acknowledge that Dick had to help him with that—that monitored the Sladebots. "You fixed that annoying glitch. Good. It was irritating."

Dick chewed methodically, the food tasting bland even when mixed with berries. One of Slade's major updates—installed in all Sladebots at once—caused a malfunction, putting most of the bots out of commission. Dick spent hours trying to fix the code. Old as they were, the bots were prone to malfunctions these days, hence why he often fell asleep in the workroom.

He finished his meal quickly, ignoring most of Slade's commentary, his heart hammering in his chest. Dick topped off his water bottle at the water cooler, his eyes darting around for anything he could put in his pockets. Dick darted out of the kitchen, leaving his dishes sitting on the table, before anyone could say a word.

A whiff of cool air met him as he scampered into the main room, wide and open, a shaft of light shining through the sky window above. He slammed his hand against a control panel, and the giant wall screens flickered on. He shifted through the channels until they rested on the one he wanted to see the most. He stood in front of them, his eyes glued to the bloodstreams.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

Slade followed him into the room. Dick's eyes darted around the room. He had to trust his memory, trust the blueprints he had been studying for years. Trust in his own innate talent that he wouldn't fuck this up. He knew where it was. He hoped he did.

Dick shot like a bullet towards the other end of the room.

"Hey!"

He didn't have to turn around to know what Slade was doing. Dick increased his speed, going into a dive as Slade punched a control panel. Lights and sounds blared as metal doors began slamming down, the main exit closing down first. Of course, Slade would suspect that he'd try to escape first. But Dick wasn't going there. He skidded underneath the door, reaching into his pocket for the razor. He forced himself to keep going, knowing that he wouldn't make it to the other end of the living quarters, and shoved the razor underneath the door in front of him.

He hissed as the skin of his fingers caught in the metal, though it did not break skin. The razor—he used an electric one, not those cheap disposable things—crunched under the weight, leaving behind an inch of space. He rolled to a stop, breathing heavily as the door struggled to close, then stopped. Those things weren't meant to harm—merely delay.

Dick looked back down the hallway, listening for Slade to come closer. Even though Dick had said nothing, Slade was sure to figure out what he was doing before long. He had Dick cornered. There was no way out, not unless he fought his way through Slade. Dick waited, not hearing anything, his heavy breathing giving away his position.

What was Slade waiting for?

Not wanting to find out, Dick went to work on the door, intending to hack the control panel before Slade made his way in. The radio control to the nanoscopic probes was in Slade's office. He didn't need to get that far, not today. Just one thing, and he'd be done. Out of this nightmare. And he had to do it today.

Because he found a cure to the probes.