Hazing

There's a line between good and evil…or at least that's what they say.

But then that begs the question, who the hell are 'they'?

- Unknown

-heist-

Do it…just take it…it's right there in front of you…go on…you know you want to…

Wait...not yet…just not quite yet…

Sweat slid down his skin, snaking its way up the nape of his neck and into his hair. It itched but ignoring his discomfort for the sake of freedom, fresh air and avoiding decapitation by the extremely dangerous security bot humming inches behind his head did not prove difficult for the young man in question. However, ignoring at insane, chanting little voice in his head did present something of a challenge.

He narrowed his eyes, fingers twitching, sweaty, almost aching as he hung there, suspending up side down from the thin, almost invisible black cord about his narrow waist. Some might have called him skinny; some might have called him athletic. In both cases, he didn't give a rip because his body – despite the mean myth that tall and skinny people have two left feet and fall over them frequently – could worm into the tiniest of ventilation shafts, twist through a complex and intricate maze of motion sensor lasers and best of all…

Weighed almost nothing.

Therefore, had the stamina to simply hang in wait above whatever prize he sought for hours on end. His profession revolved around patience, patience and timing. He knew this, but his baser instincts argued with him to toss his training out the window and just blow the damn vault apart!

"Rome wasn't built in a day," he muttered, tucking one of his many delicate tools back in the proper slot of his belt, careful not to touch the centre trigger mechanism.

The built in switch would activate the xinothium ore that fueled his oh-so-fashionable burglaring attire and as much as he loved to use the nifty little tricks the ingenious technology lent him, tonight it sadly became his back-up plan. The security bot couldn't pick up human body heat, but it would pick up the static energy produced by his suit. So…just doing things old school for tonight. As he slowly, carefully rewired the tiny battery powered locking devise preventing his entrance to the sizable vault before him, the young cat-burglar mulled over his life in recent events, figuring he had things pretty good so far.

He'd cased the place for weeks, memorized the building, the guard shifts, the security system. He'd hacked the construction company and stolen blueprints, even gone so far as finding a legitimate mole in the target's circle of dirty pals to tell him about the dangerous anti-theft defenses. He'd even deactivated the security bot's audio sensory system, so the idiot thing couldn't hear a thing he said, even as he hung behind it, humming to himself, leisurely disabling the alarm trigger built into the metal plated vault.

Tricky little bugger, he thought, busily rewiring, cutting through insulation rubber and wrapping copper strips around the proper circuits. He almost regretted the protective skull mask hiding his face. If he'd had it his way, he'd have taken it off to see his work with his bare eyes, a penlight between his teeth and an exact-o knife in his hands, the way he'd done things before the suit.

…before getting caught that one careless time. Before his rap sheet made him play things careful, forced him to wake up and smell the police doughnuts. Before he had to grow up and get real about his thieving career. Before the obsessive, too-intense, spiky-haired crime fighter, Robin the Boy Wonder and his merry band of do-gooder city mascots.

Blah…

He cringed, automatically making a face before the thought even fully formed in his head. He almost cut the wrong wire. Didn't. But he blamed Robin for the near-miss. He'd taken to blaming Robin for a lot of things actually, just about all his ill-fortune or back luck he blamed on the bird-boy…like a reflex or a comfort blanket. The way one might knock on wood to keep their words from coming back to bite them in the ass later.

After all…if he'd never met Robin…he would have never met Slade.

"Done!" X announced.

The mechanical lock gave a happy little cheep of invitation and the thief expertly keyed in the code he'd snitched out of his informant. The heavy vault door hissed and sprang open, well oiled hinges allowing the heavy doorway to swing out with nary a groan. X peered inside, still hanging like some kind of giant Black Widow spider from the ceiling. He examined the interior of the vault for any booby-traps he could have overlooked.

He remembered the tale of a pro burglar who aced every electronic security system in Europe, only to get caught in the Soviet when a job's last line of defense was a simple bell attached to his targeted prize. The noise alerted the watch dogs. The owner couldn't figure out why his prize Dobermans had no appetite the next day.

The thief knew, though he didn't admit, that the man he was currently in the process of ripping off would probably have something of the sort installed. From the rumors circulating the nightlife around Jump City, a new, dangerous kind of mafia guy had recently moved in on the territory Blood's defeat had left wide open. Since the last two major crime lords in the coastal city had gotten the bum's rush in a big way, this new guy had no problem slipping in and taking over.

With Brother Blood migrating to Steel City (as the rumor went) and Slade's death at the hands of Terra during the city-wide scare during the summer months (or so everyone thought) the ruthless and apparently crafty newbie on the block had no competition what so ever.

Well, in X's opinion that just wouldn't do. No man deserved to usurp a throne like Jump City's without some kind of hazing process. He'd gone through a bit of rough patch when he arrived and thought this guy needed to get knocked down a peg or three.

And…X frowned; spotting a thin, almost invisible line of fishing string crisscrossing the floor…he didn't necessarily like the word on the street orbiting him.

Apparently, first day he made an open move in the illegal markets, he snapped the necks of two well known weapons dealers, merely because they tried to haggle him too far over the price of their artillery. He then proceeded to tell the living underlings that their masters' rudeness offended his delicate sensibilities and he now demanded their loyalty and service to make up for it.

So in one swift stroke, this man had taken full control of the city's illegal smuggling operations and earned himself unofficial rule over every two-bit trouble-maker who needed weaponry to make their weekly assaults on the Teen Titans.

The name of this man, so Red X had gathered, was Blockbuster.

He couldn't decide if the guy was daring people to knock the name so he could crack a couple more necks, or if he had a legitimate reason for laying claim to such an absurd alias. Did he want to get a reputation as the crime lord of overpriced movie rental outlets?

Red X silently unhooked himself from the grappling line, swinging himself into the safe; a good distance from the tell-tale wires hovering just above the floor. He crouched there a moment and inspected the thin strings, tracing their paths visually up the corners of the vault where they ran a subtle trail into several of the many safe boxes lining the wall.

The young burglar suspected any tightening or slack in the line would set something off somewhere.

He pondered momentarily how to over come the curious set-up, but didn't bother to get closer to his targeted safe-box by stepping over the obvious trip-wire. With a small, admiring kind of glance he noted the thin glint of a second, blackened trip-wire beyond the first, designed to catch the idiot who saw the first line and stepped over it.

He'd never seen a crime lord who used such ingenious, but medieval booby traps to catch his thieves. X mused, as he reached into his belt pockets, that this new crime lord just might have the ingenuity to make his mark in this town…

…until Robin kicked his ass anyway.

X stood up and carefully leaned over the wires to the appropriate safe box. A simple key would unlock the tiny compartment, but upon closer inspection he realized that the strings somehow coiled inside the tumblers of the lock. Any fooling about with lock-picking tools would certainly yank the string tight.

He's smart, X thought producing a small globule of simple wall tack and a pair of wire cutters. Whistling to himself, he pinched the line running into the locks between thumb and forefinger, then cut the line below it, preventing it from going slack or tight. He then gingerly applied the tack, placing it over the wire and adhering it against the wall, securely in place.

Seconds later he had the simple safe-box open and after shorting out a small tracer chip inside the long, air-tight carrying case, he slid the long, black case from the deep safe box and inspected it a moment. Opening it now would be a mistake. Blockbuster probably had a last, bitter-sweet surprise inside the tube to get the last laugh on the cocky burglar who did manage to get his hands on the priceless object inside.

Grinning like a madman, the young criminal reached back and slipped his satchel from his back, sliding the plastic tube inside the black Velcro shoulder bag and strapping it place. He shouldered it again and stepped out of the vault, grabbing his tow-line and tapping a recoil switch. The spring loaded climbing ropes coiling up again, pulling X and his purloined masterpiece up to the ceiling and to safety.

His nerves tingling with the relief of finally stealing his obsession for the last couple weeks, the thief dangled there, unhooking himself and swung onto an adjacent support beam, catching it between strong fingers. He quickly began moving along the edge of the beam, swinging hand over hand from one beam to the next until securely outside the security grid.

He dropped to the floor and saluted the blacked out security cameras before tapping the centre of his belt. Xinothium buzzed across his skin like a layer of static before his body fluttered out of perception, moving so fast he seemed to vanish to the human eye.

In the morning, Blockbuster would find his safe wide open, his security bot active and sitting right in front of the violated vault and the priceless Italian oil painting Una Notte Scura missing from his recently acquired collection. Poor sucker. He'd never know what hit him.

Unfortunately, for Red X he might have considered that perhaps he didn't know what he'd just hit…

-heist-

((3:47 AM/Bandit13 has logged on/Bandit13 has entered Alleycat Corner))

((3:47 AM/CircusRunaway has entered Alleycat Corner))

((3:47AM/Bandit13 invites CircusRunaway to join private chat))

((3:48AM/CircusRunaway has accepted invitation to join private chat))

((Buffering))

Bandit13: Up late again?

CircusRunaway: Up early, actually.

Bandit13: Picky, picky…

CircusRunaway: I notice you're always on this time of night. You can't lecture me.

Bandit13: Yes, but you're always on before me lately. You don't talk to anyone else either. Do I have a fan?

CircusRunaway: Don't flatter yourself. I tried talking to the others on here, but they're all crazy and half of them are felons you know.

Bandit13: Yes I know.

CircusRunaway: Why do you talk to them? They all seem familiar with you.

Bandit13: I'm just a likeable kinda guy.

CircusRunaway: With a rap-sheet?

Bandit13: Bite me, Runaway. I'm not confessing to anything

Circus Runaway: …

Bandit13: Are you giving me the silent treatment?

CircusRunaway: …

Bandit13: Yes. I'm a criminal. Will you stop filling the screen with little dots now?

CircusRunaway: Now was that so hard?

Bandit13: You have no idea.

CircusRunaway: Why? Is it hard breaking the law? Doing whatever you want? Using and abusing other people for your own gain?

Bandit13: See! I knew you'd get all righteous on me! You always do! You're wound so tight I'm freaked you might blow up or something.

CircusRunaway: Ka-boom…That doesn't make what you're doing alright.

Bandit13: Hey! Don't come off like that. You don't know who I am or why I do what I do! Maybe the justice system isn't as great as you think.

CircusRunaway: Just because one cop hurt you or something, doesn't give you the right to break the law!

Bandit13: Just because one criminal hurt you, doesn't give you the right to lump us all together! Take a chill pill, man.

CircusRunaway: …

Bandit13: …what?

CircusRunaway: How long have I been talking with you like this? Almost four months now right? Since my insomnia set in.

Bandit13: Yeah. What's that got to do with anything?

CircusRunaway: My parents are dead, Bandit. Say what you like. You can't change my mind.

Bandit13: …how?

CircusRunaway: Murder. What else do you need to know?

Bandit13: I'm sorry.

CircusRunaway: So am I.

Bandit13: Would you believe me if I swore I've never hurt anyone doing what I do?

CircusRunaway: Trust is easy to tear apart, hard to build up.

Bandit13: …I understand.

CircusRunaway: Night.

Bandit13: Runaway?

CircusRunaway: Yeah?

Bandit13: …I know it's hard and all that shit but…try to lighten up anyway. It's healthy. Trust me.

CircusRunaway: The optimist fall off a 10 story building and says for the first 9 stories down "So good so far."

Bandit13: The pessimist jumps off a bridge before life can hand him anything good.

CircusRunaway: Night, Bandit.

Bandit13: Night.

((4:03AM/CircusRunaway has logged off))

((4:03AM/Bandit13 has logged off))

-heist-

Author's Note: Yes. I've finally started my sequel to Your Problem. Sorry to all you Aqualad fans out there, but I have an entire side-story to explain what happened to him premiering right after the completion of this fic. Thisis dedicated wholly to Red X and Robin, though you know how much I adore Red so... Anyway, love to be back in the Teen Titan cesspool! Love you hear yourfeedback!