NOTICE! I am looking for someone who knows how to make original book covers. I would really like to have a new design for the cover of this book. If you are interested, please PM me.
Also, don't forget to check out the poll on my instagram page. And if you have any suggestions or constructive criticism, let me know!
.....
8:45 SST
The Island, somewhere in the South Pacific Ocean
December 2nd
....
Richard buried his head into the warm pillow as wakefulness tried to pull him from the sweet embrace of his bed. He hadn't slept this well in so long; he didn't want it to end. The blankets were hot and heavy, wrapping him almost in a cocoon of comfort. He couldn't remember feeling this good, not since he had run away from home and founded the Titans. Not since—
The teen jerked awake and sat up, forcing the foreign comforts off of him. He had been sick. He was supposed to leave the Tower, because people were coming for him. But Slade came and then...nothing. Only fractions of memory were there to explain what had happened next, and there weren't enough pieces to put it together.
A helicopter.
An operating table.
Slade was there. He was always there.
He wanted to sleep, but that was bad.
Slade freed him from the table.
Someone was coming up behind him.
He had to protect Slade.
"That can't be right," he mumbled and rubbed his eyes. Protect his worst enemy? Yeah, the mercenary didn't really need help in that department.
The stranger was Slade's friend.
He was okay.
The mask was gone.
He could see his face.
Slade knew.
He was trapped.
Trapped. In some unknown location. With his arch-nemesis. Well, wasn't that just peachy. He was half tempted to just lie back down and pretend it was all some twisted fever dream, but the urge to explore his unfamiliar surroundings overruled that idea. If he was stuck here, he needed to know the ins and outs of his new quarters, until he could find a way of escape.
Taking off the blankets brought on a sudden chill, and Richard shivered subconsciously. That bed was still singing siren to him, but he couldn't rest anymore, not with Slade potentially just beyond the bedroom door.
The teen wonder stood slowly, making sure to find his balance before attempting to walk too quickly. It would be best not to collapse and have Slade walk in at the same time. He'd probably die of embarrassment. Once he had gained his footing, and could walk certainly without leaning on anything, he let his gaze roam and take in the room.
The bed stood on the left wall, if he stood with his back to the main door, with another door near it, presumably leading to a bathroom. There were no windows, but there was a tiny vent in the ceiling letting in hot air.
On the opposite wall stood two large bookshelves with plenty of room for new additions or trinkets he would inevitably find. Hung on the wall right beside the shelves was a collection of various martial arts weapons, ranging from his preferred bo staff and escrima sticks to the more lethal katanas and sais.
Along the right wall stood a simple dresser and pair of closet doors, as well as a lamp and decently sized mirror. For the prison cell of someone just kidnapped, it was a pretty homey setup. Too comfortable, now that he thought about it.
This room had been planned for him. The bed was just the right size. The gray color scheme was simple and versatile. He could bet that the clothes in the dresser and closet were probably his size. His apprentice uniform had fit quite nicely...
Apprentice, the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was the one thing Slade had always wanted from him, the only thing he ever asked for. Slade did not like to lose, and Richard doubted he would give up his recruitment effort so easily. This was just the physical proof that he had been planning it long before this moment.
"Never again," he resolved under his breath and started searching for either hidden ways out or secret cameras and wiretaps. He could never be too careful. After satisfying his mind that there were no ways for the one-eyed assassin to spy on him, he decided that a quick shower would be next on the to-do list. He didn't like the idea of being stuck in dirty pajamas.
As the water heated up, he stiffened as he looked in the mirror. It had been so long since he had taken off his mask, and it was a sickening reminder that Robin wouldn't be here to help. Slade had confiscated his mask. There was nothing for him to hide behind now.
Richard took his time in the shower, enjoying the hot water and delaying the inevitable. He knew he would have to face Slade and whatever horrors he had planned eventually, but for now he was content.
But all good things must come to an end, and ten minutes later, Richard stepped out, dried off, and wrapped himself up in a towel. When he walked back into the bedroom he was surprised to find clothes already laid out for him. No one had done that for him since he was a child, and it was a little off-putting, if he was being honest with himself.
The clothes were simple and militaristic in style, but they were surprisingly comfortable: a black T-shirt, dark gray camo cargo pants, boxers, and a pair of warm socks. He spotted a pair of plain black combat boots at the foot of his bed.
"I get kidnapped and join the military. How did that happen?" he asked no one in particular as he tied his shoe laces and tucked them in to prevent as much noise as possible. The good news was they were much lighter than his metal tipped boots he wore with his Robin uniform.
He had to brush his hair out of his face repeatedly while he got ready, since he couldn't find any hair gel to keep it out of the way. One thing was for sure; no matter what happened, he wouldn't dare let that megalomaniac mercenary anywhere near his hair a pair of scissors.
Richard slid a small assortment of whatever weapons or tools he could find into the various pockets on his person. He eyed the escrima sticks for a long moment, debating whether or not he should take them instead of the wooden bo staff. With a brief sigh of resolution, he snatched them off the wall and slid them into the largest pockets on his hips. This was Slade he was dealing with, and he wouldn't be going anywhere unarmed.
A sharp knock at the door caused the young man to jump and spin around. A British voice he didn't recognize called through it, "Are you decent?"
Baby blue eyes darted wildly around the room, "Uh...yes."
The metallic door slid open and an older man stepped inside. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties, if he had to guess, with gray, thinning hair and a burly mustache. He held himself with the air of someone who was once in the military, and his body hinted at old muscles that did not lie dormant. Richard got the distinct feeling that the old man was appraising him, and the strange smirk he was wearing was more than a little of nerve-wracking.
"Um...hello?" Richard tried, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. The older man smiled down at him with a twinkle of amusement in his gaze.
"Hello, Richard," he greeted, and the teen fought the urge to correct him. He had never liked being called by his formal name, but it was the name he had given Slade, and there would be no sense of informality between them.
"I am William Wintergreen, though that's Mr. Wintergreen to you, understood?"
Richard nodded mutely, still trying to figure out what this had to do with anything.
"I am the butler, and I will be escorting you to the kitchen until you learn your way around. I gather you are feeling well enough for some breakfast?"
"Yes," he replied carefully.
Richard usually prided himself in his intelligence, his ability to understand and piece things together, but at the moment, the most idiotic thought was running through his mind. Slade had a butler who looked as if he could be a drill instructor at a boot camp.
A buff butler. Holy sinking satyrs, he's a buffler! he thought as he followed the man out of the room for the first time, mentally bashing himself for thinking something so absurd.
Richard soaked in as much of the walk as possible, doing his best to memorize the layout. Unlike the haunt in Jump City, the base had a more enclosed, well lit structure. But the greatest difference was the fact there were other people. He and Wintergreen passed several men in semi-military guard, and each time the strangers would stop and gape at the teen.
"Where are we?" he asked in a low whisper as they passed a trio of men loaded with either a gun or a cup of coffee. Wintergreen smirked beneath his mustache.
"I think Slade would want to tell you that himself. But don't worry, boy, you're safe here."
Richard frowned, "Trapped in the heart of enemy territory and being led by a total stranger to meet my kidnapper. Safe is definitely the word I would use."
Will chuckled, "Clever one, aren't you? I like you, kid. Slade's going to have his hands full."
The teen hero wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that. Normally the bad guys tried to punch him in the teeth for his quick remarks.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked as they stopped at an automatic door.
"It means I'm going to have a great new source of entertainment," he grinned slyly and walked inside the room.
The buffler is planning something. I can feel it, Richard thought as he hesitantly followed him into what appeared to be a private dining room and kitchen. The teen felt himself stiffen once he realized one of the seats at the table was occupied by none other than Slade himself, who seemed to be casually sipping from a coffee mug as he scrolled through something on his laptop.
"Will, Richard," he grumbled out in greeting. The assassin looked up from his screen and did a double take, looking the boy up and down. A startling thought arose in the teen's mind, and he did the same to Slade, bobbing his head up and down in a quick scan.
Dreadful realization dawned on both of them. They were wearing matching outfits. Slade appeared outraged, and Robin felt disgusted. This was beyond embarrassing.
"You planned this," Slade accused with a pointed glare at Will, who had returned to the stove and was contentedly scrambling some eggs in a pan. The old Brit acted completely oblivious.
"I have no idea as to what you're saying."
"I found these on my bed," Richard chimed in, shifting any attempt of blame away from himself. He was more than willing to go back and change right then and there.
Slade resisted the very strong urge to facepalm, "Will," he began but was cut off.
"What drink would you like with your breakfast, Richard? Tea? Juice? Coffee?"
Richard looked like a deer stuck in headlights. No one simply ignored Slade and got away with it. The teen risked a glance at his grumbling kidnapper, debating whether or not he should answer the strange old man.
"Um, coffee would be nice. Thanks," he replied with a noticeable pause. Wintergreen nodded and continued cooking breakfast, being purposefully oblivious to the tense air around him.
Well, this is awkward, Dick thought, No freaking, duh, genius. Quit having so many Beast Boy moments before you slip up in front of the most anti-humor person this side of the law.
This time, Slade visibly sighed and muttered something about Will being impossible and this was why he never had friends. Richard would have found the whole thing funny if he didn't feel so awkward standing in the open doorway.
When Slade waved him over to sit down at the table and eat, Richard hesitated but eventually complied. No words were passed between them, and the only source of noise was from the coffee maker and the sizzling of whatever Wintergreen was cooking.
Today was going to be a long day. There was no doubt about it.
Once Wintergreen set the plates down in front of them, Richard waited until Slade started eating before he began picking at his plate. Surprisingly, the food wasn't half bad, but then again, almost anything tasted good after over a month of takeout.
Breakfast came and went without conversation. Slade barely acknowledged either of them as he continued working on something on his laptop, and Will causally read the paper, leaving Richard to his thoughts. As soon as the plates were cleared, rinsed, and put away, Slade finally addressed the teen.
"All right, Richard. Let's see if you've kept up with your training."