𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐑𝐄 , nightwing

007 aftermath.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 freak show family all glared at me as I stood tall, enduring the crippling pain as long as I could before accepting my fate, hoping to at least help Rachel escape or take a couple of them out before bleeding out in agony on the rooftop. I practically felt all of the blood gushing out of my stubbed shoulder join, exactly where the clean cut provided a messy exit for what looked like all of the blood in my body and more with the amount of it.

It knocked me on my feet, causing me to sway and squint through the black spots as I stood up against the Adams family. The parents seemed unbothered by all the slaughtering, as the father turned to the son like a typical parent asking the child what flavour of ice cream they would like from the ice cream man. "Want to finish him off, son?"

With a relaxed tilt of the head in a facade of thought for a moment, he glanced back up to me as before smirking. "Certainly, father."  He headed towards me, and with every strength I had, I remained standing, holding the pulsating stump where my arm used to be, now bleeding profusely as I took as many steps back as I could. While it was clearly pouring out of my now amputated arm, it felt as though all the blood was rushing to my head.

Drawing out a bat, he raised it before swinging down on my head, stunning me with the sharp agony. My mind went blank, as if the single hit cleared my brain of all memories, thought, etc. I couldn't think, so I couldn't act to help myself. I hadn't accepted this, I wasn't going to.  Swinging back again, he hit my head again and I felt my head cave. With a swift pop, my eye fell out of its socket, resting on the edge of my eyelid, stringed in place. My brain slowed.

In that short moment, Dick - all I could think about was Dick. Was he okay? I hadn't seen what had happened after he fell. Was he even alive? Probably not. It's better not to get my dying hopes up. I then came to realise how little I'd actually done in my life - these past few days being my only memories. Beyond that? Who knew. The lab? My powers? None of it mattered.

As I dropped to my knees, my weight being too much to carry, my top half dropped and I fell on my front, my shattered face pressed against the stone cold concerted surface. It was nice. The hard and chilled floor perfectly calming compared to my throbbing head rushing with blood, heating all the sides of my face where it fell. It was nostalgic, reminding me of the floor back in the labs - one of my largest regrets was never finding out what the labs were.

A muted grunt came from above as the son must've taken yet another swing to my head, smashing it into a splatter of flesh and mush. My eyes were long shut. In the darkness, my memories lined up like doorways. It was a dull and darkened hallway, some form of steel or metal all around, forming a lengthy narrowed corridor. Metal barred doors, like prison ones with the sliders for viewing sat all rowed up on the walls, evenly spaced.

My body wasn't physical, not in existence anymore but somehow not void. My mind was similar, feeling weightless like air but somehow solid. It was all such a drastic contrast to what I was feeling not a moment ago - the drilling pain, not even thinking about my body's state or my mind. I couldn't even muster up a singular thought, and now here I was, left with only my thoughts.

Was this an afterlife, or was it some sort of mental state? Either way, you still could feel the shushed grunts of the son while continually bashing your brains out all over the floor while you shivered in the hallway. It had an end, a singular door sitting impatiently, and when I turned to see behind me, there was complete darkness besides a duplicate of my body, however opaque, and clearly not intact whatsoever. That must've been my physical state.

My body lay battered and beaten to a bloody pulp, the fleshy stub where my arm was hacked off still laid out pouring out whatever amount of blood I had left in my body, most already looking like it was on the floor. As for my head? Well, it would surely explain the headache, as my body lay on its stomach, my neck coming to a stub also, but messier, like a child had thrown a plate full of brain matter, flesh and skull, all doused crimson in the floor in some protest.