Cyborg and Hyperion had just responded to a bomb threat in South Boston. It involved a targeted attack on refugees from Khandaq, what is widely known as the homeland of the fallen champion of Earth, Black Adam. After numerous heinous acts of Adam's doing as well as those of his zealous worshippers, racism began to mount against innocent Khandaqis around the world. The South Boston incident was an attempted bombing of temporary housing for these refugees, and fortunately, Victor and Harper intervened and disarmed the explosives before anyone was harmed.
Currently, they were overseeing the clean up alongside the local police. Victor's scans didn't pick up any additional explosives, but he called in the police's Explosive Ordnance Disposal team to make a full sweep of the premises just in case his scans were incorrect, however unlikely that would be.
As Victor surveyed the building once again from the outside with vision modes in every spectrum of light, he could feel the uncomfortable glances that the refugees gave him. They weren't used to costumed crimefighters of any kind, let alone a Cyborg...so he said nothing.
"Prints point to a Jenny Kramer as the perp." Harper reported to the onsite police, demonstrating the newly added scanning capabilities of her Model Val exo-suit. "Past offences include assault, and attempted arson."
"Thanks. We'll send a car. You got an address for us?" The lead detective asked, notepad in hand.
"One seventy-seven, Westford Avenue."
The detective smirked. "We don't get to see you hero types much down here. I mean, especially someone big like Cyborg."
Victor sent a confused glance to the detective. He blinked at him, silently accusing him of sarcasm.
"I'm being serious. My dad's a Vietnam vet, lost a leg over there. You were the first cape apart from Superman that he didn't think was rubbish." Said the detective.
Victor felt something. He wasn't sure what, but it was something. That feeling quickly faded when he concluded that the detective was lying to make him feel better. Out of pity. He was being compared to Superman. That wasn't right. It was clearly exaggeration.
Harper, as if reading Victor's mind, spoke for him "He appreciates it, really. Don't mind him, he's got most of his mental capacity focused on scrubbing the building for signs of any other bombs."
This gesture puzzled him even more than the compliment. Yes, he had some resources allocated to conducting thorough multi-spectrum scans, but that took up about 0.01% of his processing power and concentration. He easily could've answered...and Harper knew that, but she made something up to cover for him. She lied for him...
Satisfied with his conclusions, Victor walked away from the crime scene with Harper closely following him. Eyes staring straight ahead, he asked her "Why'd you do that?"
"It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you don't take compliments well, and I didn't want that officer to think that he had offended you."
Victor huffed and reluctantly said "Listen...I appreciate it, but I don't need a crutch. I can take care of myself."
"You'd rather have to listen to that guy go on about his dad? All the while, thinking that the only reason he's doing any of that is because he feels sorry for you? You don't need to. Not if I'm around, anyway. I know how it is."
Victor stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder. "You don't. How could you? How could anyone? Im sick of you saying that you know what it's like. You can take the machine off. But me? It's all I am now. You don't know how it feels."
Harper clicked her tongue in mild frustration. "Maybe I might not know exactly what it's like, but that might be because you don't ever tell me."
"You're a shrink now?"
"I'm someone who knows a thing or two about feeling like they're a product."
"Are you kidding me? Have you met Metamorpho or Robotman? How the hell would you be any closer to me than they are?"
"Hey I'm not saying I'm just like you. I'm not. No one is. But I like that about you. I'm just...trying." Harper muttered.
Victor thinned his lips. It was easy for him to get lost in his rage...but it wasn't as easy for him to acknowledge it and apologize. His facial expression seemed to be enough for Harper, who exhaled.
She added "Hey...don't worry about it. I won't."
The purple 'eyes' of her Model Val's helmet seemed to pierce through Victor's promethium shell like x-rays through flesh. She planted a hand onto her hip, cocked her head, and asked "You wanna...get a cup of coffee?"
Victor scoffed.
"Come on. Let's do it." She replied whimsically.
Victor's face dropped as he realised that she was being serious. Needless to say, he wasn't exactly getting chased around by all the girls these days. And, of course, this request seemed to just drop out of the sky. Harper was a fine ally in the field, Victor thought, but that was the beginning and end of their relationship. "Uh..." He murmured.
Harper playfully slapped his shoulder and urged "Come on, it'll be fun."
"What...like a date?"
"Not used to having to categorise it that bluntly, but yeah. A date."
The Cyborg's brow furrowed. "Why...?"
Harper laughed nervously "Uh, because I want to?"
"No, why do you want to?"
"You're making this really weird, Vic."
With an exhale, Victor replied "People aren't exactly lining up to ask me out."
"That's their fault. They're missing out on that winning personality of yours." Harper chirped.
Victor huffed in amusement. "I...deserved that one."
"Is that a yes?" The woman asked with anticipation in her voice.
"No. No coffee."
"Okay. Cool, whatever." She shrugged.
Victor smirked weakly. "We're getting pizza. Let me just...grab my civvies." He said, referring to his casual clothes. He never left the Watchtower off-mission without covering himself up with a hoodie, trackpants and a very large pair of shoes. Of course, it never stopped people from staring...but it helped from a distance.
Harper shook her helmet-clad head. "No. No civvies. You're gonna be alright."
He wanted to bat her off and go get his stuff anyway...but he couldn't remember the last time he heard those words being said to him, instead of him telling others.
Soon after, the mechanical pair found themselves at a table at Mario's Pizzeria, one of Victor's favourite pizza places. Victor, who'd usually be writhing in anxiety and the desire to just leave, was preoccupied with the woman he was seated with. Instead of all the eyes being on him, they were all on her. Harper sat at the booth in full robotic armour, only with her faceplate slid open in order to eat and drink. All the while, she spoke wholeheartedly and plainly about tech things that no one but Victor understood. She shovelled pieces of meatlovers pizza into her mouth and broke it up with sips of lemonade. Victor politely snacked on his pepperoni slices as he gazed at her.
He knew that it was all on purpose. She was so insensitive in what she said...but her actions, her unspoken actions, connected with him in ways he never knew were possible. She kept her suit on so that they'd be two of a kind; he'd no longer be sticking out like a sore thumb.
"—instead of doing it the way I was supposed to, I coiled it like it was a specialised coupling." Harper said, concluding some other long story about someone messing something up at the Group 6 operations base.
Victor grunted, his version of a very low laugh. "So, it shorted out and fried your whole system."
"Yeah. And that was how I learned how not to build a supercomputer."
The confused stares continued, but Victor wasn't as worried as he'd normally be. He wasn't the sole strange thing in the room anymore. It...was comforting, knowing that he wasn't alone. "Gotta start somewhere."
Harper, her mouth full of pizza, then asked "Hey, I've been meaning to ask. How do you process food?"
"Pretty simple. Internal chamber of acid breaks consumed materials into their base components, then I absorb what's left and convert it into energy."
"So...it's exactly like a human stomach."
"Yeah. I don't have to eat, though. It gives me an inconsequential amount of power, and when fully charged, my primary fuel cell can keep me ticking for about three hundred and sixty-seven years."
"What happens to waste material?" Harper snorted with a laugh.
Victor rolled his eye. "I don't need to shit, Reid."
"Okay. I'm glad we sorted that out."
"My body absorbs matter more efficiently than organic systems do. No waste, more energy absorption."
Harper swallowed what was in her mouth then leant backwards into the seat. "Oh man, I ate too much."
"You know how to build an anti-matter propulsion system, but not how to gauge food?"
"This stuff looks too nice. You know what I ate back home? Snags and mash."
Victor had to Google 'snags and mash' in a microsecond and found out that it was Australian slang for sausages and mashed potatoes. "You can get pizza there, you know."
"Yeah but they're shit. Tiny. Like the size of this little plate. A good pizza's one you have to fold to fit in your mouth. You gotta take me here more often."
"You could come by yourself."
"That wouldn't be fun though. Stop fishing for compliments." Harper quipped.
Victor was actually going to laugh, until he felt a strange sensation in the back of his skull. It was his ballistics tracking module...a program designed to identify incoming projectiles. It was an RPG...about to be fired at the diner. As he processed this data, Victor's face went pale. He glanced out the window directly to his right.
"Vic?" Hyperion asked.
"Everybody get down!!" He yelled at the top of his lungs as he deployed a charged particle layer in front of his body and stretched its area of effect to cover the rest of the patrons inside the restaurant. The energy shield appeared in thin air, prompting Harper to drop her pizza, close up her faceplate and brandish a weapon.
She called "Gimme an opening!"
A hole no larger than five centimetres in diameter appeared in front of Harper, who slotted the barrel of her weapon into it. Whoever held the launcher finally fired, and the rocket took flight on its path with Victor in its sights. Harper took aim, assisted by the detailed targeting systems in her suit, then squeezed the fire command.
With a single bullet, the rocket was detonated prematurely, tearing the front of the pizzeria to shreds, shattering Victor's shield, and propelling everyone backwards out of their seats. Unlike all the other people inside the building, Victor was not limited by a purely human brain. He wasn't rendered unconscious by the vicious impact, nor was he really damaged. His visual scanners rapidly assessed the civilians around him for any severe injuries as he rose from the rubble. To his relief, they were all fine.
However, his concern for the innocent people was quickly extinguished when he saw a figure across the street clutching the launcher that fired the explosive projectile. The man was dressed in advanced combat gear strapped with pouches, knives, and pistols. His face was covered by a mask that was in two perfect halves; one black, and the other orange with a single red eye slit on the coloured side.
Victor gritted his teeth and leapt out of the diner and into the street. "Wilson...!? You goddamn psychopath!!"
Deathstroke tossed the spent RPG launcher onto the ground like a piece of garbage. "It's a shame no one died. You seem to fight harder when you're angry."
"Who said I wasn't angry!?" Victor snarled. The former Titan vaulted forward with a devastating haymaker. Deathstroke raised his forearms in front of his chest and braced. The incredible blow met its mark, flinging Wilson away and into the side of a car. His body shattered the windows of the vehicle and dented the door, but Deathstroke, the Terminator, didn't let it slow him down.
Victor answered this first attack by bringing to arms his white noise cannon and firing a salvo at his old enemy. Deathstroke managed to evade the energy weapon, which blasted the car and flipped it up into the air, and into the side of an apartment building.
Deathstroke then unholstered a P90 sub-machine gun, which was instantly identified by Victor's background scans. The mercenary swept the weapon across his field of view, with its projectiles doing nothing but bounce off Victor's chassis like foam darts. This act made Victor freeze in place. Slade Wilson was no fool. He was the biggest threat to the Titans for a long while, and he faced them many times on the battlefield. He knew each and every one of Victor's capabilities...so why would he shoot him with something that he knew wouldn't hurt him?
The second shot fired by Victor's cannon didn't fare as badly as the first. The pulse of sonic energy slammed into Deathstroke's centre of mass, kicking him into the brick wall behind him. The surface of the wall cracked and shuddered, but once again, Wilson showed no signs of serious injury. Anyone else would've had at least 89% of their overall skeletal structure shattered by such an impact, but this wasn't an ordinary man. Deathstroke was the product of a military experiment; a super soldier. He was stronger, faster, and smarter than what was physically possible for a human being.
Victor grimaced. Slade was pulling his punches. There had been times where he went up against Cyborg, Beast Boy, Starfire, Raven, Robin, Wonder Girl, and Kid Flash all at once, and came out alive. He couldn't beat them head on, but the fact that he didn't lose the fight against a team that powerful was a statement of his sheer skill.
Wilson drew his namesake, a pure promethium blade, flipped forward into the air, then swung it at Victor. The Cyborg caught the blade with a single hand and pushed his incredible strength against Slade's. Deathstroke's enhanced musculature wavered. Victor snarled "You're up to something, Wilson. You aren't this stupid."
Deathstroke huffed in amusement.
Suddenly, a burst of gunfire cracked the air, and Victor watched as a handful of rounds caught Slade's side. At least two managed to penetrate his body armour, whilst the others were embedded upon its surface. Deathstroke wrenched his blade free of Victor's grip, somersaulted, then sent a single shuriken hurtling towards the origin of the gunshots.
Harper gasped as the ninja star struck the barrel of her gun and stuck itself there.
"Nice suit. You should be down for the count after that explosion." Deathstroke remarked, paying no attention to the two gunshot wounds in his abdomen.
In response, Harper raised her right forearm, pointing the gun mounted on it right at Slade's head, and opened fire. The Terminator moved with incredible speed, diving behind a parked car that had been pushed askew by the rocket he fired. Victor, using Harper's covering fire to his advantage, charged into the opposite side of the car, and unleashed a bone-pulverising front kick onto the tail light section of the vehicle.
Deathstroke, who had knelt behind that end of the car, was bludgeoned by it as the kick turned it into a weapon. Slade tumbled across the street like a ragdoll, helpless against the unbridled strength of Victor's alloy tendon layer.
Harper made a motion to rush forward into battle, but was halted by Victor's hand. "Something isn't right. This doesn't fit his MO."
"What does he usually do?"
"Have a plan for everything. I've hit him too many times. He's studied me before...it doesn't make sense for him to lose this badly."
Suddenly, there was a pop as a smoke grenade was detonated at Slade's previous position. Victor's eye widened. He leapt over into the cloud and desperately searched for the criminal. However, his scanners were being disrupted by particulate matter...something that had been infused in the smoke.
When it all cleared, Deathstroke was nowhere to be seen, and Victor was left with more questions than answers. "Damn it. Wilson never leaves himself open like that..."
He glanced back over to Harper, who was strolling over to meet him. However, she slowed to a stop and laid a hand onto her helmeted head. She swayed, unsteady on her mechanical feet. Victor was seconds away from asking if she was alright before Harper grunted, staggered, then collapsed.
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"What the hell do you call that?" Agent Zirrozinski pressed, throwing his arms up in anger. "You almost got dozens of innocent people killed today, you goddamn psychopath!"
The man Zirrozinski spoke to had a head of sheet-white hair, and a matching beard. His right eye was covered by an eyepatch. This man pulled the cigar from his mouth and puffed out a cloud of smoke that swirled in the midnight air. "You hired me to get a job done."
Zirrozinski stepped closer to the stranger and snarled "Give me one good reason for me not to have my men arrest you right now?"
The stranger chuckled. "You and I both know that'll only get everybody in this entire building killed."
With a frustrated groan, Zirrozinski shook his head. "I must've been out of my mind to come to you."
"You were being smart, kid. You knew that I went more rounds with Victor Stone than anybody else. I gave you what you wanted. I showed you what he can do. So if your cameras and analysts got everything you needed, I'll be taking my money now."
Zirrozinski ran a hand down his face and turned away from his guest. "The briefcase. Take it and get the hell out of here."
Slade Wilson didn't waste any time in retrieving the case and making his way to the exit of the agent's office. "I've got a little piece of advice for you, Bobby. Don't trust your boss. She's a real piece of work." With that, the gun for hire vanished from Zirrozinski's office like a ghost.
All things considered, the agent of A.R.G.U.S. had what he had hired Slade for. All he needed to do now was act...and soon Victor Stone would be getting sliced open on an autopsy table, sharing his technological marvel with the world instead of hording it.