Her world was suddenly on fire. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see. Something warm was pooling beneath her back.
India mustered together bits and pieces of strength and pulled herself up from the cafe floor, wincing as debris fell from her body.
"Bruce?" Her voice was a hoarse, pained whimper amid a cacophony of screaming and crackling heat. Fear was an unbearable weight against her chest, seemingly crushing the air from her lungs.
Rubbing frantically at her eyes, shapes began to form; what was left of the storefront, shadows fleeing about the street in panic. Flaming rubble.
Oh, god.
Bodies. Blood.
"Bruce!" Louder this time, as something made the ground shake violently.
She had to find him.
India took a step towards the ruined wall leading to the streets of Gotham, a hand reaching hesitantly to the middle of her back. Wet and sticky.
One foot in front of the other, just one and then the other…
Sirens cried in the distance, alarms wailed. The sidewalk was destroyed. A taxi was overturned against a streetlamp. She had no bearings or sense of direction and her brother was missing.
Footfalls behind her.
"Is there something wrong?"
India felt security hug her sweety. Someone to help her?
She turned dizzily towards the voice, stumbling on a chunk of unearthed concrete. Blood dripped from her wound and down a leg. She stared.
A clown. A horrible, twisted caricature of a clown. Dressed in purple, slouching slightly, just inches away. He smiled, and there was something so terribly wrong with that smile, India nearly wretched.
"Cat, uh, got that pretty little tongue, hm? Or maybe...daddy didn't teach you manners?" The tone of a schoolyard bully. Nasal. She opened her mouth to speak, lips quivering, eyes saucer-like. He held up a finger, ticking it back and forth. "Ah! Ah! I know, see? I know you uh, you're looking for someone? Hm, yeah?"
"I-I…"
"Big brother?" The clown's voice rose an octave, hands gesturing nonsensically. India began to back away. He moved forward. "Brave Bruce?"
Something beneath the crude red paint, stretching out from the corners of his mouth. Scars?
He chuckled, exhaling dramatically with great puffs. "Superficial, these." Gloved hands slapped the healed carvings. "I'll, uh, tell you how I got them later, maybe. Because! Right now, I want to help you, India! Help you find Brother Dearest!"
He was on her in a flash, gripping one arm with bruising force, free hand reaching to bunch up the scooped collar of her dress from the back. Searing pain rippled up her spine. He began to drag her down the sidewalk, amid chaos that she could never have imagined before, feet stumbling helplessly. Her hands worked in vain to push him away, gain freedom. She cried.
"Call out for him," The clown whispered, lips grazing her ear, "...or I'll practice my freehand on your face!"
India felt herself begin to fade, vision darkening in a world already blocked and shaded from the sun. The clown shook her violently, leading them into the street.
"You stay awake! Call for brother!" He leaned into her back, acting as a column that kept her from falling to the cement. She swallowed, throat dry and gritty.
"Bruce?" Nothing more than a sigh.
"Louder!"
"Bruce, please!" Her cry echoed through the desolate block, and she felt her captor nod approvingly, his cheek rubbing up and down against her own. Nausea rolled inside of her.
"Good girl."
Just moments later, something stirred in the distance. A tall, dark shape, faded by the rolling smog.
Please let it be him, please save me…
And it was. Despite the dusted, ruined suit, or disheveled hair, it was Bruce. He was just a quarter of the block away. She subconsciously moved towards him and was pulled back by her captor, practically dangling from his hold as he held her by his side like a prized fish. Her brother put his hands up in surrender.
"Oh yes, little India Wayne, sent faaaar away to a magical land, not to be shredded up by Gotham's sharp claws! Um, is fortuitous the right term? Hm?"
She tried to pull away, ruined dress ripping from collar to hip. His hand released her and then, something hard and cold against her temple.
A gun.
"P-please-"
"Shut up, Princess!" The clown hissed, gaze never leaving her brother. "The adults are uh, talking." Bruce kept his hands in the air, still and stoic.
"You've done what you've set out to do. Let her go." Her brother's voice boomed over the mayhem, and she trembled with something unknown.
"Oh? What, what was it that I set out to do again? See, I forgot!" His smile was menacing, greasepaint chipping around the crude scars.
"You'll get your TV spot. You'll be front page. Dent will-"
"No, no, nope!" He pushed the gun harder against India. She sobbed pitifully, one bruised hand holding together the remains of her dress.
"I was hoping my bestest friend in the whole...wide...world would show up!" He looked up at the sky, exaggerated wonder turning his red mouth into an O. "I guess he doesn't give a shit about a little girl getting a bullet in the head."
Another explosion quaked the ground mercilessly. India lost her footing and fell to her knees. Shards of glass and rubble dug into her bare flesh, and the gun kept perfectly trained on her.
How many bombs could he possibly have?
"I'm a musician! Hear that music? A symphony to be remembered! I can't, uh, play it just once, can I?"
The heat of the fires made the wind pick up, blowing smoke and ash around them all with painful force.
"How about one last crescendo?"
"Let her go and take me-"
"One more triumphant blow! One more pull of the strings, Mr. Wayne!"
India heard a click and screamed.
And then darkness.
