I cough. I am faintly aware of the blood that comes out of my mouth because of it. The concussed sort of feeling right before I fucking died is still there. That isn't very good.
(None of this is good. I am supposed to be dead. Why am I not dying in an alley right now? Why am I here, in the body of someone that is not me but now is, and why do I have a feeling my life is going to be very, very hard? )
"So what the fuck happened?" Is what I try to say, but more blood comes up in between words and I end up in a coughing fit at the end of it. The guy in the middle on the other side sort of leans back, and I finally look up long enough to get a good look at them.
The one on the left is wearing green and has the weirdest facial hair I've ever seen. The other looks like a Jason Voorhees rip-off . The third in the middle looks like a more threatening and handsome Mr. Clean. That lends nothing to their identities, besides the fact that I already like them for appearances alone. They're all beat up, too, but not as bad me I think. And if they are, they're not showing it.
I hack up more blood. The ones to my left and right lean away from me, but I definitely hear cussing.
"Sorry-" more blood, promptly wiped off. "Sorry about that. I can't remember shit-" Mr.Cleans eyes widen in what might be shock, "-So a refresher might be in order."
The van is silent for a few seconds, save the bumps and faint chatter from the front. If I die before I figure out what's going on, I might fight god.
"You and Sportsmaster were hired as...bodyguards for Ra's al Ghul and myself. We were attempting to locate a powerful artifact. Superman and other various league members interfered. We failed."
I narrow my eyes at the mention of Sportsmaster and Ra's al Ghul(-and at the mention of the comic book boy scout, a part of me is ignited by burning hot anger, fear, and bitter defeat and I don't know why-), before I nod and let my head thunk on the back of the van. I don't need to convince myself this is real, because the pain and blood and pounding in my head seems real enough at this point.
(I don't think I want it to be real, though. I want to be back in bed, listening to music. I want to be home, with murder mysteries playing in the background. I don't want to be dead, but I am, but I'm not.
God. I'm tired.)
"You think you're gonna bleed out before we get to Belle Reve, little Staccato?"
Sportsmaster. Weird choice of a nickname for me though. Maybe we knew him before, or maybe he just does that to everyone(-and there isn't any we. It's just me. Just me, and a lot of years worth nothing).
"Call me that again and we'll see who bleeds out first, puck face."
A muted chuckle. Mr. Clean rip-off looks atleast slightly amused by the banter. Ra's looks like an unamused statue. Actually, now that I think about it, Mr. Clean should be Lex Luthor, right?
Sportsmaster sighs as the van stops. Looks like we just got to where we were going.
"If we get out of this quick enough, I might just consider a partnership afterwards."
"If I bleed out quick enough, I might just consider fighting god." I mutter, rolling my right shoulder.
I was slightly numb before, but as they start manhandling us out of the back of the van, my knees buckle and I fall onto the pavement with an aborted curse. Every nerve ending feels like its on fire, and I cough up more blood than I did before and Damn do my lungs feel like burnt meat right now. My shoulder feels like it just got wrenched out of its socket because holy shit I'm pretty sure it just did, and with the commotion and yelling the pounding in my head feels like a jackhammer on steroids.
I hear what I assume to be the guards yelling and more hands on me that I try to fight off because I'm not getting my other arm fucked up no sir, and by the swearing I think I'm atleast a bit successful. Success is short lived though because something collides with the back of my head and holy fuck if the pain wasn't bad before it is now.
Black is overtaking my vision, and I see the end of what I think is a weird and much stronger looking baton, and before I know it-
I'm out cold.
(I don't register the alien feeling of being in another person's body. My joints aren't fucked up, my body feels lighter, and I don't have hair.
Good enough for me, I think, the next time I wake up.)