Harley opened her eyes and found herself curled up in the corner of a dilapidated room. She tried to raise her arm and discovered that one side seemed to be dislocated. Using her other hand, she rolled up her sleeve and saw bruises on her forearm. Combined with the abrasions on her waist and the side of her leg, it looked like someone had dragged her here by the arm.
Other than that initial movement, Harley did not move again. Her eyes remained half-closed as she surveyed the room through the narrow slit beneath her eyelids.
Harley was a Gotham native, so one look around told her this was probably the dormitory of some illegal factory. Calling it a dormitory was generous—it was really just a room partitioned off from the workshop for child laborers to rest in. There were about fifteen or sixteen children her age here.
Harley spent roughly five seconds recalling how she had gotten here, then realized this might be some kind of illusion. She also knew it had been constructed by allies, or they would not have chosen Gotham as the setting.
Once she had sorted that out, the first thing Harley did was close her eyes and go to sleep.
This body had probably never eaten a full meal in its life. After working all day, it was trembling from exhaustion. Maybe it had offended a foreman and had its arm yanked out of its socket. It would very likely go without food for the entire next day. If she did not rest now and let the body adapt to this state, she would probably pass out from low blood sugar before long.
Harley slept until the next morning.
Only when faint light filtered through the crack beneath the door did Harley have time