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13:47 SST
The Island
December 2nd
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"Your technique has improved, but it is far from perfect. Again," Slade commanded, and Richard grit his teeth in frustration.
He hated training with Slade. He wasn't afraid of the workout; that wasn't the problem. He didn't even mind that much when they would get into actual fights mid-spar.
No, it was just the way Slade spoke when he gave instructions. His smooth voice had a nagging habit of getting under Richard's skin in a way no one had ever accomplished. The teasing. The sarcasm. He could always tell when Slade was enjoying himself. But the worst part about training was the compliments.
Batman had been a hard teacher. There was never any doubt about that, and praise from the man was almost nonexistent. If he failed to do something correctly, he was forced to repeat it until he couldn't get it wrong, and then they would just move on. Never a "good job" or "well done." There was never an acknowledgement of when he improved.
Richard always understood that, though. In Gotham, one wrong move could be his last, and a false sense of confidence was the quickest way to the Joker's crowbar. Perfection was expected, and he had learned how to bear the burden of Bruce's high standards. No matter how hard the mental or emotional strain it put on him, he would always know the reason why. His father was just trying to look out for him the only way he knew how, and he understood that.
Which was why it always threw him for a loop whenever Slade congratulated him on getting something right. Even back during his first apprenticeship, Richard was never sure how to respond. Well, that wasn't true. At the time, he had been so angry, so desperate to protect his friends, that even the slightest praise from the man was like a challenge to a duel.
Richard couldn't stand doing something his captor approved of, even if it was just nailing a specific combination of moves. He contemplated multiple times the idea of messing up on purpose, but he quickly thought better of it. His chances of rescue were slimmer than last time, and he didn't want to be put through more pain than necessary. He was saving all of his fight for the inevitable gun education.
Slade was a mercenary and an assassin. Robin had long figured out that as long as he was trapped under the man's tutelage, guns would soon be a topic of discussion. It was just a matter of when.
Richard began to spar with his "teacher" once again, following through the moves he had been shown with similar determination that he once had under Batman. Perfection was always expected, and that wasn't something anyone could just drill out. This time, he managed to complete the sequence correctly, and a gleam of pride entered Slade's cool gray eye.
"Well done. You always were a fast learner."
Richard fought the urge to glow at the man's acknowledgement. Praise was such a rare thing to him, but that didn't mean he would accept it from his enemy. He wasn't that desperate.
Eager master and reluctant apprentice returned to their starting positions in the middle of a sparring ring outlined in white. Richard could feel beads of sweat floating down the side of his face from the hot sun bearing down on the outer training yard.
It was still hard for him to tell where he was at specifically, but he had narrowed it down since stepping outside. The already hot and humid atmosphere indicated somewhere near the equator or just south of it. The strong smell of the sea hinted they were somewhere close to an ocean, and his improved hearing added to that fact. A glance up at the men patrolling the walls surrounding the compound, Richard found that many of them were of an Asian heritage, which led him to think that he was most likely somewhere in the Pacific area.
He was just grateful it wasn't somewhere cold.
Slade narrowed his single eye at his apprentice, and Richard snapped his gaze back to him as though he could feel the command. The boy was truly something. He learned very quickly and had an understanding and intelligence far above several grown men Slade himself had worked with in the past. There was so much potential, even before he transitioned into being a blood-born Talon. The mercenary nodded his head at the ebony haired teen and lowered into a fighting stance that was quickly mirrored.
"Begin."
As the two launched into another spar, Slade thought about amping things up to see just what Richard's new limits were and what it would take to pass them. He didn't pull his punches as much as usual, though it seemed the boy hardly took notice. Slade increased the speed in his attacks, and Richard reacted accordingly, as though it was just another spar. The mercenary was beginning to wonder if the teen even noticed the difference. Granted, Richard was still brash and impatient, but he would learn control eventually.
After several moments, the two broke away, and Slade ordered a water break. Regardless of how strong Richard was now, the Change had been very recent. He didn't want his unwilling apprentice to experience any complications.
Richard stole a glance at Slade as he chugged from his water bottle. It was still the epitome of weird to see Slade without his two-toned helmet. For so long, he had wondered just what his enemy looked like beneath the mask, but that one moment in Trigon's Keep haunted him, where Slade's mask had been broken to reveal a scarred, terrifying skull that was prime nightmare material. To see the actual face of the man he spent so much time hunting was a new experience altogether.
A flicker of movement caught the corner of Richard's eye as he saw a stranger approaching Slade from behind. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched. If he was one of Slade's men, shouldn't he call out to him? What was that in his hands? It looked a lot like a shank.
Something clicked in his brain, and the next thing he knew, he had the man pinned to the ground. One hand was clasped behind the man's neck, while the other twisted an arm in an almost unnatural direction. If he so much as twitched, that arm would be broken.
Slade spun around to see what the problem was and choked back a laugh at the sight. Richard had pinned a poor lackey to the ground, and—wait. What that Sergeant Horace again? Did the man seriously have a death wish? He couldn't help it at that point, Slade barked out a laugh at the sight of the thin sixteen year old on top of the grumbling soldier.
Richard's head snapped up at the sound, and Slade could see a ring of gold overlapping with the blue of his eyes. That could pose a problem in the future.
"Richard, let him go," Slade ordered, and the teen slowly complied, the gold shine slowly fading from his eyes.
The raven haired boy held a hand to his head and rubbed it, pushing through a small headache. As he and the other man climbed to their feet, he could hear the stranger mutter a complaint about this possibly becoming a regular occurrence. What did that mean?
"Sorry about that. Not quite sure what happened," Richard apologized, now that he was back in control. The soldier, whose name tag read Sgt. Horace, rolled his eyes.
"Just don't go making a habit of it, and we'll call it square," he replied, a tiny smirk poking through his annoyed features. Richard smiled timidly and nodded.
"What have you got for me, Horace?" Slade asked, breaking the exchange. The sergeant held out a jump drive, which Richard could now plainly see was not a weapon. If anyone were to ask, the redness in his cheeks was from being out in the hot sun for several hours.
"Wintergreen told me to bring this to you. Said it was important."
Slade took the drive and pocketed it before turning to Richard, "I believe now would be a good time to end today's session. Supper is at six in the same room as breakfast and lunch. If you lose your way, just ask any of the men here. Other than that, you have the rest of the afternoon off."
"Aren't you worried that I might escape while you're busy?" Richard asked, a hint of his Robin bravado coming back. Slade chuckled.
"I'd like to see you try. No one gets on or off this island without my hearing of it. I'd suggest you become familiar with your surroundings first. It's going to be your new home for a while."
Richard frowned as Slade stalked off, his eyes boring daggers into the back of the man's head. He had a point though. If he was going to escape eventually, then he would need to learn the layout of the compound first and devise a plan.
A small part of him just wished that someone would rescue him before it came to that. But without the tracker in his Robin suit or his utility belt, no one had a chance at finding him through the use of technology.
An idea blossomed at the thought, and he hurried back inside the compound, dodging the occasional passersby as he navigated the maze of hallways until he came to his bedroom. Moments in the past had taught him that there was more than one way to find someone. He just hoped his plan would work from this far away.
Richard double checked that his door was locked before he sat down in the middle of the floor in a lotus position. Taking several slow, deep breathes, he closed his eyes and focused on the meditating technique he had learned from Raven. He rested his arms on his thighs, clenching his hands into loose fists with the palms facing upwards. Once he was certain his mind cleared, he began chanting the words he had heard over and over in the Titans Tower.
"Azarath Metrion Zinthos...Azarath Metrion Zinthos..."
He reached out with his mind, trying to feel for Raven through the bond they shared. If he could just reach her, maybe he could get a message through. But after over an hour with no result, not even a ghost of feeling, Richard began to suspect something might be wrong with the link. He couldn't feel her soothing presence like he used in the quiet corners of his mind. He couldn't feel her at all.
"Azarath Metrion Zinthos. Azarath Metrion Zinthos. Azarath Metrion Zinthos!"
A flash of white hot pain seared through his mind, and Richard gave out an involuntary gasp. Something was wrong, so very very wrong. He could feel his brain throbbing in his skull, but there was no hint of the empath's presence. Richard let out a panting breath as he clenched his fists tighter. He had to reach her, even if it was just for a few seconds.
"Azarath...Metrion...Zinthos. Azarath...ngh!"
The pain rocked through him again, causing him to grit his teeth to bite down a scream. Then, there was nothing. No sense of magic. Nothing.
"No!" Richard yelled, snapping his eyelids open as he slammed his fists on the ground. He was too distraught to notice the spiderweb cracks in the floor. "No! Raven!"
But she would not hear him. The empath he had loved like a sister wouldn't be able to help him this time, because there was no connection.
The bond was broken.