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"I've once again captured a maiden's heart through Laxative~."
- Jaha Lee (Return of the mad demon)
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<(Bruce Wayne POV)>
Holy mother of Christ, I seriously underestimated this girl's level of crazy, didn't I? She's a goddamn nutcase! I cursed inwardly, trying to slip away from her as she continued to rub herself against my thighs like a cat in heat.
[{(Image from Discord)}]
I mean, sure, I already knew this version of Harley Quinn had a thing for Batman since I'd apparently saved her from some psycho trying to hurt her. Don't ask me who it was; I don't keep track of the people I save unless they have already become victims of the crime when I find them. Anyway, considering I don't remember saving someone with the name of Dr Harleen Quinzel, she must not have been hurt when I rescued her.
Anyhow, as I was saying, Selina had previously mentioned Harley's "interest" in me in her report, where she'd been very thorough about Harley's headspace and history, but she forgot to mention that the woman's "interest" was actually a full-blown obsession. So much so that the moment she got a minute alone with me, she started grinding on my damn leg as if it were the biggest vibrator she had seen in her life. But again, it might be my fault for not being able to read between the lines.
However, how the hell does she know my real identity? I was so careful that I am positive I never left a single clue about it; I even told everyone, like Selina and Cortana, explicitly not to mention Batman's link to Bruce Wayne. So how did she find out?' I wondered as I debated with myself if I should use the Amusphere to wipe her memory, give her a full personality reset, and just be done with it, or not.
"I can't freakin' believe you're Bruce friggin' Wayne!" Harley laughed, eyes wide with manic glee. "You're such a good actor, Batsy! What are ya, someone with a split personality disorder or somethin'? Or have you gotten a case of the ol' bipolar blues? Eh, whatever it is, I love it! I was half-expectin' some kinda half-bat, half-human freak under that mask—but now that I think about it, that'd make a lousy smoocher, huh?"
She giggled, tracing little circles over the chest plate of my armor with one finger. "But it does all add up! A rich eccentric billionaire playboy with the gadgets, the tech, the power, and the trauma—oooh, I can already guess the tragic backstory! Mommy 'n Daddy gunned down in front o' ya… makes sense ya grew up with a hero complex the size of Gotham! As for the bat, you either wear it cause you're provin' to yourself that you ain't scared of nothin' no more, or you're just one of those moody goth boys who think bats 'n vampires are the hottest thing since leather pants!"
"..." Well, she would've nailed it perfectly if I were the real Bruce Wayne. But the truth is, I'm not him. And I'm not out here because of some tragic childhood trauma. I'm doing this because I know what kind of world this really is. I'm doing this because I have to—at least until I can find a more surefire way to protect this planet from the endless threats out there in the multiverse. Because out there, even a random alien hobo could wipe this planet off the map with nothing but a sneeze.
But of course, I couldn't tell her that. So, I just let her think she had me all figured out. "Miss Quinn, you're highly intelligent and an excellent psychologist. You could've had a bright future. Why throw all that away? You do realize what you're feeling isn't love, right? It's an obsession. A psychological fixation you developed after I saved you that night—"
"Nope, it's love," Harley cut me off with a little pout, her voice teasing but soft. "Biologically speakin', love, lust, obsession—same damn thing, puddin'. Just a bunch o' funny chemicals doin' the tango in my noggin', makin' me feel real good. That's the high I wanna keep ridin'. I don't wanna go back to bein' boring ol' Dr. Harleen Quinzel. She kicked the bucket the night you saved me—just didn't realize it until later. The name's Harley Quinn now... though you can call me whatever ya like, sugar." She flirted before planting a kiss on my armor's helmet, making sure to leave quite a deep smudge of lipstick on it in the process.
"I don't trust you, Miss Quinn. You said yourself that you were trained by a criminal who calls himself the Joker. You admitted he was the reason Dr. Harleen Quinzel broke down and became Harley Quinn. So why should anyone believe you aren't still his lackey or under his control? To me, you look like someone remade in Joker's image—his minion and partner in crime." I said in Batman's signature cold and flat voice, not bothering to wipe the lipstick smudge from my helmet.
This was the first solid clue I'd gotten about the Joker since my transmigration. The oddity of this particular DC world that I had noticed a few years ago was that Gotham had seen several Jokers before. No full-blown Joker gangs were running the streets right now, but the name Joker still carried weight. After all, the first Joker had shot a celebrity dead live on television during a talk show appearance; he'd staged armed protests and acts of terror, then been murdered in prison not long after by one of his own followers who succeeded him as the second Joker.
The second Joker, though, had been nothing more than a psychotic serial killer who loved carving smiles into his victims' faces. Fortunately, he was no gang leader, just a brutal murderer. After that, there were a couple of other Jokers, but none could make a name for themselves. They were just termed copycats by the cops and quite easily arrested, too.
So the idea of a criminal calling himself the Joker wasn't new here, and a few people were already inspired by it, though hardly anyone dared to imitate him anymore. However, I had a feeling that would change once the "real" Joker stepped into the spotlight and began recruiting other psychos with his charm and madness. I mean, if this Joker could manipulate a talented criminal psychologist like Harleen Quinzel and twist her into Harley Quinn, I couldn't imagine what he could do to ordinary civilians.
'I have to find out all I can about him, locate him, and then end him before he gets the chance to grow. There's a good chance he could become a bigger threat than the Court of Owls if given time to plan and gather followers. This Joker sounds as smart, deranged, and dangerous as the original.' I decided quietly.
"Ideals? Oh, puddin', don't be silly! I ain't sharin' any of his twisted ideals or clowny philosophies," Harley said with a laugh that was both sweet and unhinged. "We just... shared a lil' mutual hobby—you! I wanted someone special to love, maybe start a cute lil' family with, and he wanted someone he could play with without gettin' bored. And guess what? We both found that someone in you, sugar."
She giggled again, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. "It was supposed to be, y'know, a win-win thing! He'd help me 'find the real me,' make me stand out enough to grab your attention, while I'd tell him everything I knew about my darling Batsy so he could have his fun when he finally came out to play. He was so excited when he heard all about you, ya know. Aww, every time I told him about Mistah Dark Knight's big ol' hero moments, his eyes went all starry, like he couldn't wait to bump into ya himself, Batsy! 'Course, I made it real clear I'd snap every bone in his body if he ever hurt ya."
Harley paused for a moment, eyes drifting off as if replaying a memory in her head. "But that clown broke his promise faster than a Gotham politician! Tried pullin' his mind games on me—wanted to turn me into his lil' pet or somethin'. But my love for you was way stronger than that. So I kicked him square in the family jewels and tried to put a bullet between his eyes, as any respected woman should." She grinned widely with an expectant look on her face as if she was waiting for me to praise her.
"So, can I join your team now, Batsy? Whaddya say?" Harley grinned widely, eyes sparkling with manic excitement. "We could be Gotham's first power couple, crackin' skulls and fightin' crime side by side! Oh, and don't worry, I ain't the jealous type. You can still fool around with that kitty gal with the big knockers. Studies say threesomes are great for relationships, ya know! Heck, I ain't opposed to a lil' orgy every now and then either—somethin' tells me you're already juggling a few more gals on the side, huh?"
"You want to join me in fighting crime?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral. "Why do you think I'd let you do that? Even if I believe your story, that doesn't mean I trust you."
"Hmm, fair point," Harley hummed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "You can't just trust me, and honestly, I can't trust myself either. What if I lose control of ma urges and jump on ya in the middle o' the night? That'd be awkward, huh?" She snapped her fingers suddenly, eyes lighting up. "Wait a sec! You're a genius inventor, right? Don't you have one of those enslavinator thingies—ya know, zappy collars that make people all obedient-like? You could totally slap one on me! I'd be your perfect lil' sub, puddin'. Think about it—the roleplay possibilities are endless!"
"…You're completely insane," I said, unable to stop the laugh that escaped me.
"No kiddin', Batsy!" Harley giggled, delighted. "That's my whole schtick, remember? And honestly, the idea of bein' the Grim Knight's naughty lil' slave kinda gets me goin'—might've even made me, uh, leak a lil' in my panties." She smirked wickedly before continuing, "But hey, I'd be the best sidekick ever if ya let me tag along! I even picked out a name already—how does Queen Robin sound?"
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