And then there were six. Against nine. And before Dinah has a chance to deal with that fact, Rabbit's fist appears out of apparently nowhere and everything goes black.
(A warm June afternoon, somewhere on the Pacific Northwest. Birds are filling the air with song, punctuated by the sound of children laughing. So many, children, all blonde and boisterous, just like their father.
"Another hot dog, Pretty Bird?")
And then she snaps back to Gotham, not quite on the floor, but not upright either. She spits a tooth out into her palm, realising the only reason she has room to do so is that Rabbit wanted to gloat.
He's not smart, when it comes down to it.
"Did you really think you could stop our delivery with just eight fighters?"
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(A warm June afternoon, somewhere on the Pacific Northwest. Birds are filling the air with song, punctuated by the sound of children laughing. So many, children, all blonde and boisterous, just like their father.
"Another hot dog, Pretty Bird?")
And then she snaps back to Gotham, not quite on the floor, but not upright either. She spits a tooth out into her palm, realising the only reason she has room to do so is that Rabbit wanted to gloat.
He's not smart, when it comes down to it.
"Did you really think you could stop our delivery with just eight fighters?"
"Ten," Dinah corrects.