Fauna
My vision fades in and out, fluctuating between light and darkness. I feel someone pull me out of the water and start performing CPR. I weakly cough up water, feeling it leak from the sides of my mouth. Somebody's muttering something nearby, but I can't quite make out what it is. With a sigh I close my eyes and black out once more.
The next time I wake up is a little clearer. My body stings, and I'm cold, and I'm lying on top of something metal. Somebody is messing around with metal tools behind me. In slight panic I try to escape, wiggling my way off whatever I was laying on and falling to the floor, blacking out from pain as my wounds flare in agony.
"Ugh........" I grit my teeth in pain as I crack my eyes open, seeing a dingy ceiling. I reach up to feel my throat, searching for the cut that Joker had made, but only feel a scar. I quietly trace it with one finger. How long was I out? I thought I was a goner for sure. After about ten minutes I attempt to sit up, feeling pain flame in my chest. I look down to see that I've been dressed in a long, unfamiliar shirt, and peer below the shirt at my chest, which is wrapped with bandages, a small amount of blood has stained the bandages red where I was shot.
With a grimace, I slide off the metal table I had been laying on. I'm in a dingy, one-room house. Trash is everywhere, along with medical supplies and a miniature laboratory in the corner. Am I in a meth lab? What the hell is going on? I hear a door open behind me and whirl around, wincing and flattening my ears against the back of my head. A person stands in the doorway, sillouhetted lack against the moonlit sky. "You shouldn't be up. Your wounds are still healing." I growl at him, showing my teeth. "Where am I? What's going on? Who are you?" The person closes the door and steps forwards. I draw back a little. "Scarecrow? But..... Nigma said you were......" He puts a brown bag of groceries on the table I had previously been on. "Dead? Yeah. Killer Croc decided to attack me. Ripped up my side pretty badly. I got away before he could do too much damage, though. And just call me Johnathan." He started taking chemicals out of the bag, organizing them. I walk forwards a bit, relaxing. "Where are we? And...." I gasp. "Oh my goodness! Abby! Ivy! How long have I been out?" Johnathan glanced at me. "To Gotham City, you've been dead for about two weeks."
