The Laughing Spider #25.
The webs in his hands trembled. Jake could feel the physics. The same equation. Pull hard enough and her spine would compress. Her body would tear. She'd come apart just like--
Harley saw it in his eyes. The calculation. The same cold mathematics he'd applied to Lady Vic.
She'd broken people before. Seen Joker do it. Watched minds shatter and reform. But she'd never been on this side of it. Never felt her own mortality staring back through someone else's chemically-warped eyes.
"Please," she whispered. Genuine fear. Not the playful kind. The kind that came from understanding exactly how close death was. "Please don't. I didn't-- I only wanted my mallet back. That's all. I thought you'd survive. I thought--"
Jake's hands tightened on the webs. The pull began. Just slightly. Just enough to lift her an inch off the ground.
"I'm sorry," Harley gasped, tears cutting through her makeup. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please-- I didn't mean-- I'll fix it. I'll find a way. I'll get Ivy. She can-- she knows plants and chemicals and-- please--"
Her fear smelled like copper and desperation.
And it triggered the pheromones.
The scent hit Jake's rewired brain like a sledgehammer. The chemicals surged, overwhelming the moment of clarity. Drowning Jake Cross again. Pulling him back under.
Protect her. Please her. Make her smile.
"No no no no--" The anger shattered like glass. Jake's face crumpled, the rage collapsing into desperate need. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-- I'm not-- I don't want to hurt you. I just wanted--"
His broken hands moved to his face. Clawed at his skin. Punishment. Self-harm as apology. Fingernails tearing furrows down his cheeks, drawing blood.
"Bad," he sobbed. "Bad spider. Hurting the pretty lady. Stop it. Stop hurting her."
The pheromones sang louder. Rewarding his submission. Drowning the last fragments of resistance in chemical bliss.
"I'll be good," he whispered, dropping to his knees. The webs around Harley loosened. "I promise. I'll cage the angry-me. Lock him away. Please don't be scared. Please don't-- don't leave--"
Harley stared at him, chest heaving. Blood and tears on her face. She'd been terrified. Genuinely, completely terrified.
But she was also Harley Quinn.
And Harley Quinn knew an opportunity when she saw one.
Her fear hardened. Crystallized into something else. Calculation. Control. The same look she'd had when planning a heist, when manipulating a mark.
When breaking someone useful.
"My mallet," she said slowly, voice steadying. "You said it was inside you."
He nodded frantically, relief flooding through him. She was talking. Not screaming. Not running. "The hungry-yummy. The clocky-clock fuel. It's in here." He tapped his chest. "With the others."
"So you ARE my mallet." Her voice was different now. Confident. Predatory. "My new Good Night. Better than the old one. Stronger. More... flexible."
His broken fingers twitched. Hope blooming toxic in his chest. "I can be? Really?"
"You already are, bug boy." She smiled. The smile that had broken stronger people. "You just proved it."
From above, King Snake's voice cut through: "Impressive manipulation, Miss Quinn." The blind man had been listening, cataloging, analyzing through the entire breakdown. "You have him wrapped around your finger completely. A useful weapon. Give him to me. When I collect Falcone's bounty, I'll ensure you're compensated--"
"No." Harley's voice went cold. Final. "He's mine."
She looked at Jake. At her new weapon. Her new toy. The thing she could break and remake however she wanted.
"I lost my mallet once," she said quietly. "Lost everything that mattered. My baby. Everything." Her eyes hardened. "I won't lose my Good Night again. Won't let anyone take what's mine. Not anyone."
She turned to King Snake, dangling helpless in his net.
"Bug boy," she said sweetly. "Kill him for me?"
Jake's head snapped up. The pheromones sang. Purpose. Direction. A way to please her.
"The man in the net?" His hands were already rising, green webs dripping.
"That's right, baby. Show me what my new mallet can do."
His wrists flexed. Green strands shot upward, wrapping around King Snake's suspended form. Around his throat first. Tight. The blind martial artist's calm finally cracked. He thrashed, trying to use his skills, but suspended and sightless he had no leverage. No angles. No--
The webs constricted.
King Snake's fingers clawed at his throat, trying to create space between the toxic webbing and his windpipe. His face went red. Then purple.
Jake laughed through the whole thing. High and manic and delighted.
More webs. Wrapping the chest. Squeezing. Ribs cracking one by one -- sharp reports like distant gunfire. King Snake's mouth opened in a silent scream. No air to scream with.
His thrashing intensified. Desperate. Animal. The body's survival instinct overriding the mind's discipline.
Jake pulled the webs tighter.
King Snake's eyes bulged behind closed lids. Blood vessels burst across his face, red spiderwebs blooming under the skin. His tongue protruded, swollen and purple.
The thrashing slowed.
Weakened.
Stopped.
One final convulsion. King Snake's neck snapped with a sound like a gunshot.
The body went still, swaying gently in the net.
Jake stared at it for three seconds. Then giggled. Then laughed. Then cackled until his sides hurt.
"GOOD BOY!" Harley clapped, genuinely delighted. "Oh baby, we're gonna paint this city red! No -- green! Like your pretty webs!"
Jake turned to her, face split in a chemical grin. Blood and tears still on his cheeks but the joy overriding everything else.
Then his eyes caught on the shelf. The rose. The green, perfect, singing rose.
The hunger surged back. Overwhelming. The interface flickered in his vision, demanding, urgent, incomprehensible but vital.
"The pretty-pretty," he breathed, pointing with a broken finger. "The flower-thing. Can I-- I need--" His voice cracked. "The angry-me wants it. He's waking up. He'll come out if I don't-- if I can't--"
Harley followed his gaze. Saw the rose. Poison Ivy's prize. Her friend's treasure, left in her care.
She looked at Jake. At the desperation in his eyes. At the way his hands twitched toward the shelf.
At the threat underlying the need.
"You want Red's rose?" she asked slowly.
"Need," Jake corrected. "The clocky-clock thing. The angry-me says if I don't get it he'll-- he'll break out and then I can't-- won't be good anymore--"
The implication hung heavy. He'd almost killed her minutes ago. The rage was still there. Caged but not gone.
Harley's mind worked.
Red wasn't coming back. Not for a long time. The rose was just sitting there, beautiful and useless.
But if she let him take it--
If she controlled access to what he needed--
"Okay," she said finally. "You can have it. But--" She stepped closer, catching his broken hands in hers. "Red's rose is special. Precious. It needs protecting from grabby hands. Villains. Heroes. All of them would want to take it."
Jake nodded frantically.
"So my new mallet," Harley continued, voice honey-sweet, "my Good Night, needs to protect it. Keep it safe. Can you do that?"
"Yes yes YES." Relief flooded through him. "I'll guard it. Keep it close. No one touches. I promise."
"Good boy." She guided him toward the shelf. "Take it. Make it yours."
His broken hands reached for the pot. Trembling. Reverent. The moment his fingers touched the ceramic, the interface blazed in his vision. Incomprehensible symbols. The hunger screaming satisfaction.
He was supposed to do something. He couldn't remember what. His brain couldn't parse the commands anymore. But holding it was enough. The proximity satisfied something deep in his corrupted instincts.
"Where will you keep it?" Harley asked, already knowing.
Jake looked at the pot. At his broken hands. At the webs dripping from his wrists.
"On me," he giggled. "Make it part of me."
He turned his back to her. His wrists flexed, green webbing shooting over his shoulder, wrapping around the pot in careful layers. Sealing it. Securing it.
The rose protruded from the webbing, positioned perfectly at the base of his neck. Green petals framing his head like a twisted halo.
A thorn pricked his skin. Drew blood.
Jake laughed. The sound echoed through the factory, mixing with the distant drip of water and Lady Vic's cooling corpse.
"It tickles," he giggled, reaching back to touch the rose. Another thorn caught his finger. "Ow-ow-ow but funny-funny-funny."
Harley studied him. Her new weapon. Her new Good Night. Broken and remade into something perfect for her needs.
But she needed more control. More leverage.
She moved close. Let her body press against his, one hand trailing up his chemical-scarred chest.
"You did so good, baby," she purred. "Killed for me. Protected me. Took the rose like I asked."
His breath caught. The pheromones flooded his system, rewarding the proximity.
"You want something, don't you?" Harley continued. "Want to touch? Want to see?"
"Please," Jake whispered. The desperation was pathetic. Beautiful. "I'll be so good. Better than good. Perfect. Just-- just let me--"
She guided one broken hand to her chest. Let him squeeze gently. His fingers shook, bones grinding, but the sensation--
The pheromones rewarded him with pure dopamine. His brain lit up like a Christmas tree. Every pleasure center firing at once.
"That's a taste," Harley whispered against his ear. "Behave. Do what I say. Keep that angry part of you caged. Kill who I tell you to kill. And maybe, maybe, I'll let you see everything."
"Anything," Jake breathed. "I'll do anything."
She kissed his forehead. Right where the chemicals had burned his skin toxic green.
"I know you will, Good Night. Because tonight, we're gonna rob Gotham National. Show everyone that Harley Quinn is back. Better. Deadlier. With a new toy that makes the old one look like a training bat."
"Bank robbing!" Jake's eyes lit up, chemical joy overriding everything else. "With explosions? And screaming? And making you proud?"
"All of that and more, baby."
Somewhere deep inside, buried under layers of chemical fog and pheromone-induced devotion, Jake Cross screamed.
Screamed at what he was becoming. Screamed at Lady Vic's broken body cooling on the grating. Screamed at King Snake's corpse swaying in the net. Screamed at how good it felt to touch her, how desperately he needed her approval, how completely the chemicals had hijacked his reward system.
He tried to hold onto the horror. Tried to remember Selina's face. The locket. The choice to do the right thing. Tried to remember he'd been human once.
But the chemicals were stronger.
They were always stronger.
And Harley Quinn walked toward the factory doors with her new weapon following behind, broken fingers twitching, green webs dripping, pot secured to his back with a poisonous rose blooming at his neck, laughter echoing through corroded halls.
"Come on, Good Night," she called back. "Let's go make some memories."
Jake followed.
He had no choice.
The rose pulsed against his spine, thorns pricking deeper with each step, drawing blood that mixed with chemical sweat.
And he laughed the whole way.
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