Disclaimer: Teen Titans belongs to Glen Murakami. I disclaim them!

Pairings: If any pairings show up, they're probably going to be Beast Boy/Raven, Robin/Starfire, or Cy/Jinx.

Author's Note: I went a week without internet and I...wrote? Weird. So let's be honest, this wasn't inspired by the word itself, as I've had this idea for a little while. I do hope you recognize today's special guest.

Slaughter

"We know you are here," Starfire says, voice echoing in the mist. Her body is cold and her mind numb.

Two hundred people dead, at the very least. Cyborg, Beast Boy, and Raven are scattered across the city to mitigate the multiple disasters that are stretching the limits of their team, and all Starfire can do is pray they're among the survivors.

"Who are you?" Robin screams into the darkness. The rest had just been henchmen. Tools in plastic masks.

The real thing half-emerges from a dark nook in the alley, shoulders hunched and face obscured still by the shadows of the rusted fire escape that hangs above.

Starfire throws up a glowing hand, but he shies back into the dark. "Guess who," he sing-songs savagely.

She throws herself forward. She should have overpowered him in a second. He has no powers. But he wrenches her hands behind her back, laughing, mindless of the starbolts that explode between them, and one terrifying difference between their battle strategies becomes obvious—that he hasn't given the first thought to whether either of them lives.

The realization stills her too long, long enough for him to press a blade to her throat. Long enough for her to feel him wrap one arm around her waist and spin her so they're both facing Robin, who is frozen, eying the knife. The man's breath is heavy in her ear. He smells like gasoline and paint.

Robin twitches forward, and she feels the man's grip slack a fraction as he readies for the attack. Her strength is more than enough to throw him off her—she flips him over her shoulders and slams him into the pavement, using the momentum to somersault onto the fire escape.

She swallows a gasp when she sees Robin in his arms, both illuminated by the yellow pool of lamplight at the end of the wet alley. The light glitters silver off the knife he holds to Robin's face, gripped like he's about to peel an apple.

"I know who he is," Robin snarls, but the blade presses to the corner of his mouth and cuts him short.

"Hush hush, birdie," the man cackles. Starfire's stomach roils when he throws his head back, exposing it to the light. His face is bone-white and his grin too wide for his mouth.

"Now," he says, and presses the knife carelessly closer. A bead of blood runs down Robin's chin, red as the man's smile. "Have I ever told you the story of how I got my scars?"