AN: This story is set in the same timeline as my other Teen Titans fics, and features the conclusion of the Slade subplot that's been working its way through them. You don't have to have read them all to understand what's going on, but I would recommend The Abyss Gazes Also, The Art of War, and Child of the Stars for getting the full story. They're linked to in my profile page.

Prologue: Masks

The tunnels beneath Jump City were not silent. Buried deep beneath the sewers, the shadowed chambers and corridors of the hidden lair were filled with the sounds of machinery pounding, gears turning, and steam escaping. The great machine dominated the tunnels, powerful, mysterious, and implacable, a reflection of the mind of the man who was master here and would be master of so much more before he was done.

He sat on the throne-like chair before a bank of monitors, chin resting on his clasped hands as his one eye focused on one image after another, observing his minions' progress as they acquired the equipment he would need to make his plans reality. He did not see his enemies yet, but he knew they were out there and would strike soon- tomorrow if not tonight. They were of no concern- he was ready for them, had planned for them. They had defeated him in the past, but unlike so many who called themselves masterminds, he learned from his mistakes. This time they would the true depths of his plans until it was too late.

Misdirection, he had learned long ago, was the most valuable weapon in his arsenal, particularly when coupled with theatricality and emotional manipulation. Wheels within wheels…

His servant approached from behind the chair, a concerned look crossing his lined face. "Sir," he said cautiously, for while his master was normally icily calm he had his moments of explosive temper, "your new apprentice wishes me to tell you that he is frustrated that he is not to be allowed to take part in tonight's events. I believe he wishes to engage the Titans himself."

"Tell him to wait, Wintergreen," Slade said in his soft, deadly voice, gaze never leaving the bank of monitors. "He'll have his chance. Remind him that we all have our roles to play, and only if he keeps to his will the plan proceed." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I am so close. Soon, everything that I have long desired and planned for will finally be within my grasp."

In a small room across town and above the ground, a girl paused to brush out her long white hair (an inheritance from her father) before lifting a mask from where it lay on her bed and holding it up before her. It was a simple thing, really, almost totally featureless except for one eyeslit, a series of grooves near the bottom for breathing, and its odd color scheme- copper on one side, jet black on the other. She'd made it herself in the image of another mask, one whose owner had made it infamous to anyone who paid the slightest attention to news in this part of the country. She wanted to capture some of that fearful reputation for herself, and in the end to turn it back on the one who'd created it.

Carefully she raised the mask and slipped it over her head, turning to face the room's cracked mirror to get a look at herself. She saw a slender figure in a dark grey combat suit, explosives and a cylinder that was actually a collapsed staff belted at her waist, a sword sheathed on her back. Now completed with the mask, the outfit covered every inch of her except for one eye and the white hair that spilled down her neck and over her shoulders.

She'd spend years of her life waiting for this moment, training, stealing, and finding herself in and out of juvenile correction centers in various states. Now, finally, she was ready.

Turning away from the mirror, she slipped out of the motel room window and stalked off into the night.