Chapter 7: Bat Out of Hell (1)
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Loose flaps of leathery wings are plastered to the side of my face when I finally come to. They’re the direct result of a plan gone tragically wrong. It’s safe to say the idea to merge and run has gone laughably bad. Well, it would be funny if I weren’t now trapped underneath a prickly sack of warm jelly that hasn’t bathed in a hundred years.  Oh, and the awful memories are still clicking by like old films.

There’s no way of knowing exactly how long I was out. Probably not long, but long enough to have gained a small crowd. I can hear the other bats stumbling around the body lying on top of me. They’re poking at the fleshy meat sack as if it were an overflowing piñata. At least they don’t seem to know about me—yet.

The ruthless memories...

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