DesertedMirage Says: Thanks, dispatcher652.

I told you guys this chapter would come soon! :)

The mission in Venezuela was uneventful, much to my disappointment. I had lunch with a few clients, representing my father and inquiring if they would like to do business with the GAA. They showed an interest and I managed to secure the deal, but it was far from the action-packed, undercover assignments I was so used to back at the headquarters.

I sighed while closing the door of my hotel room. Leave it to me to request a more "authentic" stay in a small, air-conditioning-less adobe inn. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I toted my luggage along, down the steps to the lobby to check out.

"Looks like your one search of her room to burn those sketches weren't enough, Chris."

My dad looked up from his desk with a frown. "What is it now, Zeke?" he asked with dry reluctance.

Zeke smirked as he walked inside, approaching the desk. He dropped a heavy book onto the surface before my father, a diary.

My dad frowned at the book, then up at Zeke.

"Well, aren't you curious to see what she's been journaling about?" Zeke lifted an eyebrow. "Or, should I say, whom," he muttered with a laugh.

My dad exhaled heavily, not amused, then reached for the book. He opened it, flipping through the pages quickly, then slowing his pace as his eyes scanned the words. The more he read, his jaw steadily became more taught.

Finally, he shut it roughly, and tossed it back onto the desk. It slid to Zeke, who was standing with an entertained smile on his face.

My father rose and strolled to the window facing the lake. He stood erect, hands clasped behind his back. "Well?" he spoke after a lengthy moment. "What do you want me to do? I can't take everything away from her, Zeke. And it's only been two years."

Zeke shrugged, tapping a finger on the leather book. "I think it's quite obvious, Chris. Sometimes you surprise me with your seeming unawareness."

"If she wants to express herself, she can do so," my father replied calmly, though he failed to sound completely confident. "Just as long as it doesn't interfere with--"

"How could it not interfere, Christopher. Either you change her or you don't," Zeke interrupted tersely. "And I think you know what must be done with the diary, just as you did with those drawings of the boy," he laughed with dry sarcasm. "It's funny how much softness remains in you, given that you yourself once had to be changed, and especially after all of the torment you've put her through," Zeke let out a snicker. "Still trying to win a 'Father of the Year' trophy when the contest is over."

My father turned on Zeke, and his voice was quietly hot-tempered when he spoke again.

"I'll make my decision on my own, Zeke. Now get out."

Zeke's dark eyes narrowed to slits, and he lifted his chin. He turned on his heel and exited the office.

My father faced the window again. He tried to erase Zeke's challenge from his thoughts, but he himself was beginning to wonder.

Breathing a tired sigh, he turned and walked slowly back to his desk, trying to ignore the diary, which was still there. But it was like a blaring light in the dim office, as if bearing a red mark on its cover.

As much as he tried to clear his thoughts, one particular paragraph from the diary hung in his mind:

"Sometimes I wish I was born to someone else, just so that I didn't have to have a father like mine. He's either brainwashed, insane, or hates me to no end. He said he did all of this for my "good," but I don't believe him. It's hard to believe someone who walked away when I needed him the most, no matter what he says about "needing to protect me." I don't care if I'm slowly losing my mind, I can still distinguish between love and hate, and I'm almost convinced that he's the only one here with all of his sanity intact, which means that he does, in fact, hate me--of his own accord.

It hurts to want him to love me, while knowing that he won't."

My father sat in his chair, hands folded over his stomach, staring fixedly at the diary. Finally, he picked it up, and tucked it away deep inside his desk, where neither he nor I could ever read the painful words again.

The old-fashioned paper form stared up at me as I stood in the hotel lobby. I was finishing a survey detailing my stay in Coro, Venezuela - a requirement for checkout.

I picked up the pen and began to write my name: "In…" I didn't write the rest of the letters which spelled it. Another name hung inaccessible in the shadows of my mind. I moved on to the next field, selecting my gender - something less personal. I would come back to my name later.

They told me it could all be over if I had a push. A shove of my shaky mentality over the edge. A reaching of my breaking point. But sometimes I wondered if it really was that extreme. Whoever said that I couldn't just make a run for it? I was still human, with flesh and blood…with a heart, although it was torn. Many times I was tempted to flee, even if just to see what they would do. My boldness and personality change sometimes worked against their original purpose.

When I was at the headquarters, with Axis or my friends, I felt like India. I felt every bit of my cynical new identity. I blended with their lack of regard. I fit in seamlessly with their dangerousness. But I was alone, today. In a foreign country, on a much coveted undercover mission of sorts. Dad must have trusted me enough by now, given that I hadn't shown any real signs of insurgency in years.
I had to concentrate to keep my hand steady as I wrote my fake address, while my memories grasped for my old one.

"Gotham City," whispered a voice in my head. "You live in Gotham City."

I kept writing, bending my torso over the desk.

I felt a presence by my side, although the modest lobby was empty. My luggage sat on the unfinished wood floor, leaning against my leg. Only one bag, since the trip was so short. Today I was supposed to leave by cab for the small plane which would fly me to the major airport, and ship me home.

"Home?" challenged the voice, almost chuckling at me.

My eyes struggled to focus on the paper, because someone was daring to speak in my ear.

I hesitated to write my made-up phone number. All of this had been memorized once upon a time, to use on undercover missions. But now I felt oddly…at fault. Stupid, even. It was strange to me that I hadn't felt this way more often. This was my first mission by myself, away from the others…so distanced from their control. My arrowhead necklace fell back against my collar as I straightened. There was a moment when I shut my eyes, standing completely still, heart beating calmly. I set the pen down.

"Come meet me…"

The words were clear, enticing, real. But I was alone, wasn't I?

Maybe the room was swimming with warmth, maybe I was growing overheated. "Heat makes people do strange things," I remembered one of the cab drivers telling me when I arrived a few days back. He must have been right, because I was gripping my bag and walking out the narrow wooden doorway, into the dusty sunshine.
I squinted, quickly reaching for my sunglasses from my rucksack slung across my shoulder. The street was busy and loud. Markets dotted the area, the dry air burned in my nose. Stepping across the dirt sidewalk, I hailed a cab.

I asked my question slowly, carefully speaking the language I had to recover from my high school days.

"Donde se puede comprar un coche?"

"Where can I buy a car?"

I stepped out of the cab after paying the driver. The car dealership before me was nothing like the ones back in Gotham. Barely twenty cars sat on the lot, old ones, the kinds you'd find in an epic movie set in the western desert. Buying the car from the low-key establishment was simple, although I was sure the salesman had overcharged me.

I sighed at the wheel of the dirty, olive-colored Camaro. The car didn't matter much to me.

With my bag in the worn leather passenger seat, I sped across the empty highways of the Médanos de Coro desert, with all of its brown sand dunes, the sun forever chasing me to the horizon. I shut my phone off when it rang. I didn't bother to try the radio. I needed silence, just myself and the voice. I glanced at the watch on my wrist. I was now a good two hours late for my scheduled landing at Gotham Airport, where Axis was to pick me up.

I steered the car with one hand, envisioning his confused face.

I ran a hand through my hair, whipping in the wind from the open windows. Suddenly, I didn't care that he wouldn't find me there.

My eyes were focused mindlessly on the never-ending road ahead, but soon I began to move them as though searching for something. Yet all the while, I still felt as though in a trance. It was the same feeling I had during my many lucid dreams at night, where I would go back in time, to the rooftops in Gotham, dressed as Batgirl, flying alongside Batman.

My foot pressed the accelerator automatically, every inch of my body feeling as though pulled, drawn closer forward. I didn't stop, I didn't question. All I had was one objective in mind, and the voice in my heart.

Slowly, I removed a hand from the wheel to clutch the arrowhead around my neck. My throat was parched with thirst. I hadn't brought any water, but I didn't care.

I was out of gas after another hour of constant driving. The car groaned and creaked before I pulled it to the side of the dirt road. The expansive plane of desert stretched for miles around me, the relentless sun hanging high in the sky and bearing heavily down onto my skin. I calmly exited the car, walked to the passenger side and withdrew my suitcase. My wallet was inside, my ID.

I set the suitcase onto the ground and sat on my knees to open the front compartment. Grasping my wallet, I quickly opened it, but I didn't touch my ID. I scooped a finger into a hidden compartment and pulled out a small sketch on a fraying scrap of paper. It was the only drawing of him they hadn't found and burned, the only remaining image of his face in my possession. It had faded significantly, but it was all I had. Gripping a corner of the paper between my lips, I used both hands to remove a cigarette lighter from another compartment of the wallet, then stuffed the wallet back into the suitcase. I stood up and removed the paper holding his image from my mouth, hiding it safely away into my rear pocket. I pulled up my suitcase and swung it back onto the passenger seat, my face void of emotion.

With the cigarette lighter in one hand, I walked around to the back of the car. I opened the trunk and grabbed the container of gasoline I had purchased with the last of my money after obtaining the car. I walked past the tank, not opening the door to refuel. I lifted the heavy jug, pouring the odorous liquid over the entire car. I dosed the rear, the roof, the windows, the hood. I drizzled it over the seats, the steering wheel, and especially my suitcase. Securing my knapsack on my shoulder, I stepped back a few feet, flicked the lighter on, then tossed it at the vehicle.

I walked casually away as the car erupted in flames, along with my luggage, my ID, everything about me that was "India" and not my former self.

I trekked the uneven ocean of sand, with only a brown tank on my back, jeans, leather boots and my knapsack. I kept my eyes down, my feet quickly growing sore and body gripped with exhaustion. Soon I was stumbling along, unaccustomed to the heat and not having eaten all day.

"You're almost here now, keep walking…"

After traveling for hours, when the sun was settled on the horizon, I looked up. I blinked to clear my vision, then paused in my steps.

Just as I expected, he stood there, jet black hair moving in the breeze, clear-blue eyes smiling in welcome. He must have been farther in the distance than he appeared, for his outline was blurred by the writhing heat waves.

My dry mouth hung open, I felt nailed to the ground. But slowly, I smiled in return, my thoughts never questioning how he was standing before me.

I ran, my blistered feet kicking through the sweltering sand. I had only been moving a few seconds before I realized that he wasn't drawing any nearer. I didn't stop, though. I couldn't let him get away, no matter what the agency thought, no matter what my father would do, nothing mattered. All I knew was that he was there.

I raced madly, my breath catching in my chest, the clouded air weaving through my hair. I tripped and collapsed into the sizzling sand, but pulled myself back to my feet, eyes never leaving his form. His arms were stretching out to me, as if to draw me closer.

But now an engine was rumbling behind me. I tried to ignore it, hoping it would disappear. But soon the one engine became two, then a muddle of growling.

No, it can't be them! It can't be!

My stomach was suddenly engulfed with terror. I didn't want to be ripped away from him again, I couldn't let it happen.
I fell again, but this time getting up wasn't quite as easy. My body was giving out, growing paralyzed with exhaustion and heat-stroke. My muscles grew lax, my arms quivered. I panted, hanging my head as I knelt with palms plunged into the sand.

The engines were right behind me.

No… NO!

I felt consumed with anger, rapidly flooding inside of me like a torrent. I whipped around to face them. Five cars, black sedans, the agency's. My father must have pulled out all of the stops when he'd learned that I was on the lam.

But I had destroyed the getaway car, reduced to ashes my luggage, my wallet, my ID. How had they found me?!

My heart was still warring with the walls of my chest. My resolve was so strengthened that I felt I could do anything. But my body was unable to follow. Instead I sat, waiting, although my insides quaked with rage.

Agents slowly exited the cars, wearing business suits, eyes concealed by shades. I spotted their tranquilizer guns and felt my muscles tense all the more.

One last agent piled out, removing his sunglasses and looking concerned.

Axis.

He approached slowly after speaking a message into the communicator on his collar.

My jaw clenched distrustfully as he walked toward me. He was moving cautiously, eyes down. I waited, chest heaving with resentment as my thoughts vied to concoct a plan.

And then, he arrived, standing just a few feet away. His aurora-like eyes lifted to meet mine. His gaze was gentle, and after a moment, he took two more steps forward, just close enough to touch me.

I stared right back at him, waiting for him to make his move - whatever it was he was going to do. Tranquilizer? A stun gun, perhaps?

I swallowed back the fiery lump of betrayal in my throat.

But Axis was extending his hand. "Come with me, India," he spoke tenderly.

I looked at his hand, my muscles relaxed very slightly. But I caught myself, quickly recognizing the brainwashing fighting to take place. I swallowed again, feeling torn in two. My eyes left him and moved to the ground, my hand dragged slowly behind me, through the sand. Very carefully, I gripped a cluster of it into my palm. With one swift motion, I had flung it into his face.

I was instantly tearing off into the other direction. It didn't take Axis long to recover and chase after me. My second wind had arrived, and I felt my legs growing stronger. I dropped onto my backside to slide carefully down a particularly sloped dune. Axis did the same behind me, resuming a sprint once we were on level ground. Another dune was blocking my view of the horizon, and I would have to claw my way up to see. The sand was uneven and crumbling like cake, and I came tumbling back to the valley on my first attempt.

I whirled on Axis before he could make a motion. Backing up a few steps, I watched him remove a stun gun from his belt. I was too enraged to see the reluctance on his face as he stepped forward. I ducked before he could utilize it. Axis grasped my arm. I jolted myself free, then leaped for the dune. I threw myself into the climb, mad with urgency to get out of the valley. My muscles burned with fatigue as I pulled myself up.

Finally, I arrived. I slid down the dune, tripping and plummeting head over heels to the bottom of the incline. Once I stopped, laying on my stomach, my eyes rolled up to the horizon, where he must have been waiting.

My eyes stung from the sand, I shook my head several times to see better. I searched for him in desperation, but the horizon was empty.

I rose to my feet, staggering slightly from dizziness.

"No…" I whispered, panting and holding my head. "No…no… You were here, you were here."

The disappointment was building up like a storm cloud inside of me, my heart pounding even faster with an agonizing fear, an emptiness, a disbelief.

Had he moved? Maybe he was just beyond the next dune, waiting for me. He had brought me all the way out here, he wouldn't leave me.

But the voice was gone in my head, I felt sick with loneliness.

"India," Axis spoke from behind me, but I barely heard him. I was charging forward again, my jog gradually picking up into a frantic dash.

"India, wait!"

Maybe if I ran fast enough, far enough, I would find him. I had to find him. I gasped and coughed. My body was telling me to stop, and I did. I tripped when my muscles gave out, falling harshly into the sand. I was about to give another try, when someone stopped me. Axis held me firmly, keeping me from running again.

"He was there! He was there!" I shouted, uselessly struggling to break loose of his hold. But no matter how much I shouted, how hard I squinted to see, the horizon was bare. There was only the rolling sand and disappearing sun.

My eyes filled to the brim with tears as I realized I had only been chasing a mirage, and my head dropped to the ground. Axis' hold on me relaxed slightly as I wept.

"He was there," I whispered in defeat, tasting the bitter tears on my lips. "He was there…"

Terry frowned as he slowly lowered the necklace from his ear, setting it down onto the desk in his room. The heartbeat he'd heard at that moment was elevated, uneven. It concerned him.

He moved absentmindedly, trying to begin writing a paper for his Psychology class. He opened his laptop with a worried sigh, trying not to allow his mind to construct scenarios as to what was troubling me.

It felt as though every passing second was precious time lost, thus he was putting in more hours of research and investigating. He simply didn't know what I was dealing with, but couldn't risk dragging his feet if I was in danger.

Terry stared blankly at the pages of search results. None of this was working.

He grumbled and rubbed his forehead, his other hand squeezing into a fist on the desktop. Maybe the angels' hideaway simply couldn't be found… Maybe he was using the wrong approach.

He closed the search engine, then logged in to Uptown. He had received quite a few messages and friend requests since setting up the account a few weeks back. None of them seemed of any significance, though. They were only the usual messages of gratitude and praise, whether the person believed that his page was authentic, or they were merely joking around.

Bruce had merely sighed when he heard about the online profile, but he hadn't shot it down, either.

Terry scrolled through the pages of messages, hoping he would find one of interest. But finally, he logged off, and returned to the criminal database.

His fingers hovered above the keyboard, but his mind was blank. The computer had gotten him nowhere. His only real breakthroughs had taken place in Gotham, in the city…

Terry scratched his jaw, then shut the laptop and grabbed his suit.