The corridor felt longer than usual.
Jinx kept her eyes forward as she led her team through H.I.V.E. Academy's dimmed hallways. Her boots clicked against polished tile in a rhythm that felt too loud in her ears. Behind her, Gizmo's distracted himself by fiddled with some gadget, while Mammoth's heavy footfalls shook the floor with each step.
Nobody spoke.
They'd limped back to the Academy an hour ago—bruised, exhausted, and empty-handed. No Titan corpses. No trophies. Just the bitter taste of defeat and the knowledge that the Headmistress would be waiting.
"This is gonna suck," Gizmo muttered, breaking the silence.
"Understatement," Shimmer replied quietly.
Jinx said nothing. Her jaw was tight, her mind racing through the battle's aftermath frame by frame. The Titans had been stronger than expected—especially the angel. She'd studied their footage, planned for their powers, accounted for their teamwork.
It hadn't been enough.
The double doors to the Headmistress's office loomed ahead, flanked by armed guards who stepped aside without a word. Jinx felt her stomach twist as the doors swung inward, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond.
The Headmistress sat behind an obsidian desk, her fingers resting beneath her chin, her expression promised nothing good.
"Report," the Headmistress said.
Jinx stepped forward, forcing herself to meet that cold gaze. "We... failed to eliminate the Titans." The words tasted bitter. "They were more powerful than expected. Coordinated. We couldn't—"
"You failed."
Jinx's hands clenched at her sides, pink energy flickering briefly around her fingertips before she suppressed it. "They were stronger than intelligence suggested. Eight members, two who we had no data on—"
"EXCUSES!"
The headmistress' hand slammed against the armrest hard enough to make the Five flinch. Mammoth shifted his weight, Shimmer's eyes went wide, See-More darted side to side, and Gizmo's flinched hard enough for his feet to leave the ground.
Jinx felt heat rush up her neck—shame mixing with frustration mixing with anger she couldn't afford to show.
The Headmistress schooled her expression. "The Titans are becoming a significant problem." Her tone becoming more clinical, and detached. "Clearly our operatives are insufficient."
"We won't lose next time," Jinx was quick to argue her voice becoming defensive. She stepped forward again, ignoring the warning look from Shimmer. "Give us another chance. lWe can handle—"
"Clearly, you cannot."
The dismissal stung worse than the shout. Jinx's mouth opened, then closed. Words dying in her throat as the judgment settled over her shoulders.
"What're you saying?" Mammoth rumbled, his voice carrying an edge of anger that made the guards shift their weapons.
The Headmistress leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "I'm saying... this requires a professional. The Titans must be eliminated before they dismantle our operations entirely." She paused, letting the silence stretch. "I'm contacting Deathstroke."
Jinx's eyes widened. "Deathstroke? But he's—"
"Effective," the second council member cut in smoothly. "You may leave."
The dismissal was final. Jinx stood frozen for a heartbeat, pink eyes locked on the Headmistress, a dozen protests waiting to be voiced. None of them made it past her lips.
"Come on," Shimmer whispered, touching Jinx's elbow.
They left quietly, the doors closing behind them with a hollow boom that echoed through the corridor. Jinx walked mechanically, her mind spinning. The hallway that had felt too long before now felt too short—not enough distance between her and that office, that judgment, that crushing sense of inadequacy.
Deathstroke.
The Titans had beaten them so badly that H.I.V.E. was calling in Slade Wilson of all people.
Behind her, Gizmo kicked at the wall. "Screw them! We coulda done it if—"
"If what?" Jinx snapped, whirling on him. Pink energy crackled around her fists as the pressure finally found an outlet. "If we'd been stronger? Faster? Smarter?" Her voice rose with each word. "We got our asses kicked, Gizmo. All of us."
Mammoth grunted. "They just got lucky."
"They had eight members and we had five," Shimmer said quietly. "The numbers alone—"
"Numbers don't matter if you're good enough," Jinx interrupted bitterly. She turned away, staring at nothing. "And we weren't good enough."
The admission hung in the air like smoke.
See-More shifted uncomfortably. "So what now?"
Jinx closed her eyes, and let out a slow exhale. The hex energy around her hands faded as she forced herself back under control—emotional discipline drilled into her through years at the Academy. When she opened her eyes again, her expression had hardened into something colder.
"Now?" She looked at her team—her friends, if she was forced to be honest. "Now we train harder. Study the footage. Figure out what went wrong." Her jaw set. "This isn't over. The next time we fight, and I have a feeling we will. We need to be ready."
The dimness of the safehouse was disrupted by the glow of his encrypted phone.
The phone rang once.
His gloved hand moved without hesitation, lifting the device to his ear. "Speak."
"Mr. Wilson." The woman's voice carried the clinical precision of someone accustomed to command. "I have a contract."
"I'm not accepting contracts."
A pause. Professional, calculated. "The pay is substantial. Seven figures."
Slade's visible eye narrowed. Seven figures meant either desperation or necessity. Possibly both. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking with the movement. "I'm listening."
"The Teen Titans. Jump City. They're disrupting our operations."
"You want them eliminated."
"Precisely." No hesitation. No moral posturing. He appreciated that. "Can you handle it?"
Slade's fingers drummed once against the desk. "The Titans... I've heard of them. Young. Inexperienced. Led by Batman's protégé."
"Is that a problem?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "On the contrary. It makes this interesting."
"Then you accept?"
"Send me their files." His tone shifted to business. "I'll need intel. Full dossiers, known abilities."
"Done. Half payment upfront, half upon completion."
"Acceptable." Slade stood, already moving toward his workstation. "Consider it done."
The line went dead.
His computer screen flickered to life moments later, data streaming across the display in organized columns. He scanned the information with practiced efficiency, his enhanced mind processing and cataloging each detail.
TITAN DOSSIERS:
Robin—leader, tactician, Batman-trained. Predictable in his unpredictability.
Cyborg—technology specialist, half-robot, walking arsenal.
Beast Boy—shapeshifter, versatile.
Raven—magic user, powerful but tied to emotions.
Wonder Girl—Amazon training, considerable strength.
Kid Flash—speedster, impulsive.
Seraph—Light manipulation, newly added. Limited combat data.
Starfire—alien warrior, most recent addition. Limited combat data.
Slade closed the files.
He crossed to the far wall where his weapons waited in perfect arrangement. His hand found the promethium blade first—familiar weight, perfect balance. He tested the edge against his thumb, drawing a thin line of blood that healed almost instantly.
Satisfactory.
"The Titans have been overconfident," he said to the empty room, his voice carrying certainty rather than arrogance. "Fighting amateurs."
His reflection stared back from the darkened window—black and orange armor, grayish-white hair, and a single ice blue eye.
He sheathed the sword with practiced precision.
"Time for them to step into the big leagues."