A knife through flesh. Easiest thing in the goddamn world. I grew up in Gotham, believe me, I know. Never really thought much about what it felt like. It's startling rather painful. Like that instant someone touches you with cold fingers and you aren't expecting it. The sensation sucked the wind right out of me. My vision swayed and doubled. The son of a bitch with the knife had this shit-eating grin. His thug that held my arms behind me tightened his hold. My head rolled back against his shoulder. My eyes drifted up. Behind rose-colored goggles, Gotham's night sky look tinted with blood.
The knife was stuck a few inches to the right of my bellybutton and the red syrupy stuff poured hot from around the opening. A dark rivet of it ran down the length of my abdomen, slick across the material of my costume. I felt pain. White hot. Invasive. Like something I needed to scratch. The blade slid out smoothly and my knees weakened.
"Say your prayers, kitty," the mobster growled. His yellow teeth sneered.
My chin dipped to my chest and I stared at him vehemently before my tired eyes drooped. The shadows made my pointed cowl look long and ghoulish on the asphalt. He reached forward and grabbed my chin and made me look in his leathery face. His eyes were watery and crazed. Gotham tends to create evil. It makes you crave everything you can't have. Money, power, status, blood.
"What's that? Nothin' to say? What's the matter baby, cat got your tongue?"
He howled like it was the best damn joke he's ever told. Like I haven't heard that line a thousand times. He grabbed my shoulder for leverage and jammed the blade in again, this time just above my left hip. My body writhed in agony. Muscles tightened against the hands holding me back. Another blade drove through my back. Blood surged from my lungs and wet my mouth. Both blades retracted. My head dropped and I watched the ground. Blood dripped like rubies onto the shadows. The hands that held me up released me. I dropped to my knees. Gravity rocked. I clutched at my stomach and felt hot wetness run between my gloved fingers. I attempted a breath that sounded like someone was sucking a milkshake through a straw.
And I thought for a moment, maybe it was the end. My life hasn't been remarkable enough to mourn. I wasn't sad. I'm wasn't scared. Pretty damn complacent, actually. I gave him his shit-eating grin right back with teeth covered in blood. My eyes rolled back. Dying. Easiest thing in the goddamn world.
Something cracked overhead. The two men looked up. One of them screamed. A shadow plummeted from the rooftop and landed in an animalistic crouch before me. A panicked gunshot exploded from the mobster. It ricocheted off a dark emblem and flashed in the dark for an instant. A dark cape swirled. Bones cracked. Blood splashed against the bricks. I wavered on my knees in the midst of it all with a name in my head.
Bruce.
It was done in seconds. A pitiful moan fluttered out of one of the men. He laid sprawled out on the asphalt with his arm bent the wrong direction. A dark breeze billowed around me and a shadow painted me in black. A dark cape unfurled and touched at my shoulders. I fell forward into dark clad arms that tucked me against a hard torso and lifted me from the ground. And then what little light Gotham had to offer faded and left me in darkness.