- M-m-m-wah~ - he thought it sounded like a smack to him.
Sometimes it's like this. You come out of a nice dream and find yourself in a soft bed. Sometimes it's a nightmare that makes you want to wake up sooner rather than later.
And so it was when Arthur felt soft, citrus-scented lips on his lips instead of the savage pain all over his body when he'd been...
Beaten to death.
And yet, contrary to the horrible nightmare, it was not bloody flesh crumpled in the palm of his hand, but someone's warm, soft, apparently small breasts. And it felt as if it were real.
Arthur opened his eyes excitedly and fixed his gaze on the pale face of the excited girl at his nose, the broken windows, the dim light, the high ceiling, the stairs, the cool, damp air. And turned up his nose at the sudden change of scene.
Almost reflexively, he bounced back and began groping his body with trembling hands as if his life depended on it.
- I'm not dead...! I am alive...! - he exclaimed, excitedly grabbing the cold air with his lips.
Shock, confusion, skin prickling with nerves. From having just experienced death. He hadn't even noticed that he wasn't alone.
But gradually the joy faded, but what was happening did not fit in his head.
There was a rustle of footsteps, and the sweet smell touched Arthur's nose again.
The gaze of the strange girl was persistently running over him with suspicious interest. She stood quite close by and caused a slight fever by her mere presence.
She wore a black and red Harlequin costume. Her face was covered with snow-white make-up, and her eyes radiated a deep, piercing gleam of consciousness that somehow did not match the silly expression on her face.
But worst of all, Arthur couldn't remember how he'd ended up so close to her. And why she was looking at him as if he were a juicy steak in the clutches of a predatory beast.
- What is it, Mr J? I thought you wanted to compliment me on a job well done,' she muttered resentfully.
- Do you... do I know you? - Arthur asked, not recognising the girl as someone he knew, but the company was very pleasant. - And, if it's not too much trouble, remind me how we ended up in this hole?
- Do we know each other? What are you talking about, Muffin? - I put a finger to her accentuated black and seductive lower lip.
The girl's body contorted in thoughtfulness, but a sly smile suddenly appeared on her face.
- Oh-oh-oh...' she said languidly, 'is this a game, Mr Jay? I like games, r-r-r,' the naughty Harlequin whispered, coming up to Arthur and running her fingers over his chest. - Tell me, what are you going to be, Mr Pretty Boy? Can I have a chat with you?
'It's hard with a woman when she's so horny...' Arthur glimpsed.
- Look, I'm a man who prefers to think before he does,' Arthur smiled, amazed by Harlequino's impenetrable stubbornness, which had already pressed a hot palm into his trousers.
Shapochkin thought he was being played, after all, the girl wore a clown costume and behaved inadequately, but why not play along? Arthur decided to be reassured and leisurely took her hands away, keeping both of his dignities intact.
- Before we go any further, why don't you ease my conscience and tell me what your zo...? - he almost agreed, when Harlequin stepped into the beam of light and her delicate features were outlined by dark shadows and bright glare played on her delicate skin.
Arthur froze in place, finally getting a proper look at his interlocutor.
There was no need to doubt reality: Arthur trusted his judgement and intuition too much.
The unfamiliar girl reflected everything in herself exactly as in the comic books: chaotic passion in her eyes, insane fervour in her relentless movements, and insolent crudeness in the vicious image of a clowness:
- My God... you're Harley Quinn.
Funny note from the author:
Harley Quinn - Harley Quinn.
Harlequin is Harlequin.
I hereby declare that Harley's Harlequin is the most canonical.
In front of him appeared the girl, which Arthur was a fan of as a boy. A crazy beauty with a cruel sense of humour.
It would have been hard to recognise her as a natural Harley, except for a few obvious facts: she felt so damn real... and he was here as if he'd been reborn.
- Ooh, what a believable surprise. Mr J wants to be Mr Humble tonight...? I'm so turned on by that...' Harley made a catlike flirtatious "r-r-r-ry" sound, wrapped her arms around Arthur's collar, and leaned into his chest, throwing her leg back, breathing softly on her lips, which he stared at in languid anticipation. - So what's your name, Sweet...? And what are you willing to do to take me...? - The girl asked, pulling back the suit at the neck with two fingers to expose a view of her snow-white, compressed breasts.
'She... obviously thinks we're really playing?' and she didn't even know how much she was really testing him.
Arthur wondered.
Was there any point in answering no if he was already in that situation? It was a stupid question. Sure, but one intrusive thought still kept him on his toes.
Who the hell was he?
Arthur took a quick look around himself and noticed that he was rather thin and outwardly weak. The fancy purple suit sat almost perfectly on his shoulders and his hair was slicked back like a mama's boy, but in the reflection of the broken windows it looked perfect on his almost aristocratic, elongated face, which was covered in white make-up. Yes, he was a chubby guy, but a damn good-looking one with the fatal image of a laughing devil in human form.
Hell, he envied himself.
- I'm the Joker,' Arthur suddenly announced, recognising himself as DC's most famous supervillain.
He cast a glance at Harley, covering her soft lips with his finger.
- Mmm...? - Harley mumbled in surprise.
- 'One question, Harley, sweetheart,' said a calm and even overly friendly voice in which Arthur was surprised to recognise himself. Charismatic, confident, sweet. And immediately realised that in a previous life he would have given anything for this gift,' wow... what a timbre and sound. Excellent.
Only Arthur, who had spent half his life on speech production and its development, could appreciate such an incredible manner of speech.
It required not only experience, but also a great deal of intelligence to assemble words and the right intonation into complex sentences that caressed the ear.
But to Harley, Arthur's surprise seemed just another game.
- Well, yes, you have...' Harley murmured lovingly, seeming only more turned on by his "narcissism".....
- I'm confused by this place, - he opened his palm towards the gloomy and broken picture of the factory, against which they were caressing, - why are we here? And that bomb over there, behind your back, confuses me a lot, too,' Arthur pointed at the cluster of dynamite lying modestly like a pile of useless junk, and was again surprised by the exquisite, slightly theatrical motility of his movements.
'With such physical attributes ... you could sell anything and fool people by the hundreds!', Arthur marvelled.
Their joyful and sweet atmosphere was immediately shattered:
- Ah...! - Harley covered her mouth with the palm of her hand with feigned embarrassment. - Batman... you were planning to give him a loud surprise!
***
The black car made a sharp turn on the sprawling gravel. The tyres made a whining squeal and froze in place, covered in puffs of smoke. A Dark silhouette, rolled up in a black cloak, appeared from the doors that opened upwards.
- I checked nine of the nine marked locations. Joker's not there,' came a strained male voice in my earpiece.
- 'He's outsmarted us again...! - followed by a desperate female voice.
He stopped at the tall skeleton of a grey building and, finding a group of laughing men around him, opened the fingers of a clenched fist.
- Not yet,' Batman said.
***
Arthur ran through the dark corridors of the factory, licking his withered lips. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest, and his panting was giving off the last of his exhaust.
Something flew out from around the corner and crashed with a clatter onto the piled boxes. Arthur turned round and wide-eyed to see a group of three tall lads collapsed on the pale floor as if they had been run over by a rabid buffalo. Without slackening his pace, he turned on his sliding heels on the concrete and pushed himself forward. A horned helmet and blurred, twitching eyes appeared as the big man slumped to the floor. His cloak swept the corridor in dark whirlwinds and fell victoriously to the pale floor, strewn with defeated foes.
- I don't have time for your games, Joker.
- I urgently need to lower the difficulty level,' Arthur said curtly.
The palm of a black gloved hand threw something out, and with a whoosh a silver flash flashed at Arthur's eyes, smashing into the wall with a crackle.
Shapochkin sprinted without thinking, rounding the corner and rummaging around his pocket with an exasperated hand.
The prospect of getting a slap in the face from Batman did not entice him. And he wasn't naive enough to start proving his point now, when the Dark Knight's first argument would be a punch in the face.
Which meant he'd have to spin around.
The Joker usually carried a couple of trinkets to help him disengage from Batman and buy time. Arthur didn't hesitate to look for them, fumbling through his costume.
Suddenly his finger caught on some button thingy near his pocket, and he pulled it out with a cheerful shudder. That something turned out to be a ticking button with a clock that had already started a report.
- Nah... okay though! - Shapochkin shouted out fearfully, and immediately threw the trinket behind his back.
B-U-U-U-U-M.
The spine of the suit was blasted with hot air, and Arthur was painfully snapped by a shockwave on the back of his head and arse. His legs came off and flew up, barely keeping his balance in parry, and immediately stumbled onto the emotionless concrete with a sharp pain.
A crushing explosion covered the corridor, and fragments of sand and dust drummed up in a prickling rain. A sudden silence and a compressed, suffocating sludge covered the surroundings.
Arthur's fingers slowly pushed off the floor and ran down his sweaty cheek. He turned tiredly back to the corridor, which was enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke, and listened.
A barely perceptible flash whistled through the air, causing him to deflect backwards by a miracle. The wall near his shoulder crumbled with a clang, and Batman revealed himself, stepping out of the cloud of smoke with a frown.
- 'Well of course you won't die so easily,' Arthur said with a modicum of respect.
The entire factory was of the old style. Its layout was like a creepy maze of traps. Every step cracked with a slight pressure, walls crumbled with a slight jolt, and railings sagged and fell down, shattering into dusty boxes as they fell.
In a relentless run, Arthur found himself on the first floor, lost among multiple shadows and twists and turns until he came upon a narrow passage. It offered him two exits: to the left, through an open door; or to the right, through another open door.
Without wasting a second, Arthur rushed to the left door, guided by the principle 'left means devil'. And as everyone knows, the devil is lucky.
Behind the chosen door was an abandoned office with a tattered sofa with springs peeking out of it, a dusty desk and a cupboard with torn doors.
Ahead was the only way out: a broken window exhaling cold jets of air.
Ignoring the nervous throbbing in his temples and the sweat dripping down his body, Arthur swallowed the viscous saliva exhaustedly.
- Worse than shit,' he commented.
Broken windows looked out onto the courtyard from the first floor, and offered a pretty good flight of fancy if he jumped. But Arthur wasn't thinking anymore; he knew his next move ahead of time. And at the same time heavy footsteps sounded behind him.
- Your games are over, Joker. Stop wasting my time. There are too many lives at stake. And they don't deserve to die at your whim.
It was just like in the film: a stern face, a flashy cape, and a menacing stare that made my balls shrink to sultanas.
The Dark Knight radiated an aura that made you want to run.
But Arthur restrained the impulse, resting his palm against the frame of the broken window, and turned to his 'Nemesis' with a sullen half-smirk:
- Can I just ask you one question? If I told you I wasn't the Joker, would you believe me? - The question that sounded reflected the deplorability of the realised situation, but neither the Dark Knight nor even Arthur Shapochkin even flinched.
Because they both knew how meaningless this question was now.
- You can't stop, - Batman said with grim indifference.
- The situation, you see, is not the easiest.
Batman stepped forward, literally knocking Arthur into the window frame with a single leap. Shapochkin's body flew up like a toy, and hung in the steel grip not of a monster, but of a man.
Twitching in the painful grip, Shapochkin saw with the corner of his eye a chasm of two storeys beneath him and paled.
- Speak, - said the Dark Knight coldly, - where is the detonator.
Looking at his prospects in a very precarious position, Shapochkin swallowed viscous saliva and conciliatory raised his hand.
- All right, all right... I'm the Joker, - Arthur agreed, so as not to aggravate the situation, - but let's discuss everything in a friendly atmosphere. Like reasonable and adequate people... - and his lips twitched in a crooked smile.
... and that smile of Joker's... it turned out to be a fatal mistake. From the outside, it looked like a cheeky grin, displayed by the Criminal Genius more than once to the Dark Knight in an escalating situation.
But Arthur realised his miscalculation too late.
Too much of the Joker's reputation as a madman and cold-blooded killer had taken hold in the underworld. And Arthur had too little time to think about life... you know, when you're hanging on the edge of a cliff, it's not very convenient to think.
And then.
Batman frowned very unpleasantly, pulling Arthur off the window frame....