The elevator doors dinged with a soft chime as they slid open into the building lobby—a pristine, marbled floor stretching out before them like a blank canvas, just begging for chaos.
Joker stepped out first, twirling his silver-tipped cane like a showman about to hit the stage. Harley followed close behind, her red sequined dress shimmering with every bounce in her step. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, humming a tune from one of those old black-and-white crime flicks. You know, the kind where everyone ends up dead and it's still considered classy.
The doorman—God bless his poor, trembling soul—froze like a deer in headlights the moment he saw them.
"Evening, Scotty!" Harley called sweetly, waving with the hand that happened to be holding her switchblade. "Hope you told ya mama you love her today!"
They pushed through the tall glass doors and into the Gotham night, where their brand new custom black-and-gold Rolls Royce limo gleamed beneath the streetlights like a sleek, sinister shark waiting to glide through blood-stained waters.
Jonny Frost leaned against the open back door, flicking the keys between his fingers with casual coolness.
"Man, this ride is sick," he said, grinning like a kid with a new toy. "Got bulletproof glass, ejector seats—don't ask—and a mini bar that could knock out a horse."
Joker ran a hand along the side of the car with a satisfied hum. "Mmm, she's beautiful. She's classy. She's one car bomb away from being legendary."
Harley hopped in first, plopping down onto the plush velvet seats with a dramatic sigh. "I'm gonna name her something sparkly. Like 'Lilith' or 'That Time We Almost Died in Style.'"
Joker climbed in after her, scooting close, his fingers brushing hers as Jonny got behind the wheel, firing up the engine with a smooth rumble. The low bass of it purred like a hungry lion.
"Y'know," Harley said, glancing toward the mini bar with longing, "if I wasn't growin' a mini-Joker in my belly, I'd be makin' some very irresponsible drink choices right now."
"Which is why I'm drinkin' for two," Joker smirked, grabbing a crystal decanter of aged whiskey and pouring himself a generous amount. "It's called being supportive, JJ."
Jonny laughed under his breath. "That's the most toxic version of 'supportive' I've ever heard."
Then—click.
The back door swung open again, without warning. Both Joker and Harley instantly shifted, hands pulling out hidden weapons, but then—
"Easy," said a gruff voice. "It's just me."
Rick Flag slid into the seat across from them, unbothered, still in his damn combat boots and that old tactical jacket that always smelled like gunpowder and bad decisions.
Harley blinked. "Rick??" She shockingly asked shoving her pink and blue semiautomatic pistol back in her holster.
Joker narrowed his eyes. "You weren't invited to this little cuddle-mobile, soldier boy."
Rick sat calmly, shutting the door behind him. He looked like he hadn't slept in days—"Amanda's software flagged your vitals, Harley."
"So?" Harkey asked slightly uninterested.
Rick tapped the screen of a tablet he held briefly before tucking it back into his coat. "Amanda's satellite AI flagged you during the bank heist. Her new system scans for physical irregularities in all known meta-threats. It saw a hormonal spike in your vitals and cross-referenced it with a pregnancy profile." He sighed.
Joker and Harley shot up from their slumped position. "WHAT!" She shrieked.
He paused. "I deleted it. She's not going to find out until she gets notified again and catches it before me."
Joker leaned forward slowly, smile twitching. "Well, that wasn't very patriotic of you, soldier boy."
Harley stared at him, mouth parted. "Why'd you—?"
"Because you're my friend," Rick said simply. "And because I know you two are about to do some real dumb shit. Again. So I'm not gonna stop you… but I am gonna watch over you. Plus, I don't give a damn about Amanda," Rick muttered. "Not anymore. I told you—my loyalty is not to her. It's to people who deserve it."
Joker raised a brow, voice dry as desert sand. "Like a guardian angel… with a bad attitude and worse fashion sense?"
Rick smirked. "Exactly."
Harley blinked at him again, tears threatening for just a second—but she swallowed them down like whiskey. "You're a big ol' teddy bear under all that grump, Flag."
Rick gave her a half-smile. "Don't let it get around."
Jonny, who had been awkwardly watching through the rearview mirror, whistled low. "So… are we gonna have three psychos at this party instead of two?"
Rick crossed his arms and smirked. "Nah. I'm not here to party. I'm here to keep you two from blowing up the entire city."
Joker rolled his eyes and leaned back. "Ugh. Fine. The more the merrier. But if you touch my dessert plate, Flag, I swear I'll carve a smile into your spine."
Harley snorted with laughter.
As the limo pulled into the street and rolled toward Gotham's darkened skyline, Harley rested her head briefly against Joker's shoulder, hand drifting over her stomach with a grin.
Rick sat silently, watching the city blur by outside the window. The chaos was coming—seven rounds of it—but in that moment, inside that ridiculously expensive vehicle filled with madness, murder, and maybe a little hope, everything felt balanced.
For now.
The inside of the limo practically hummed with mischief. Low lights glowed gold against the deep black leather, casting a decadent, criminal kind of warmth. Harley had her feet kicked up on Joker's lap now, filing her nails with a switchblade while Joker toyed with a deck of custom playing cards, shuffling and slicing them through the air like they were silk.
Rick sat with one arm draped over the backrest, watching the two of them like they were a live wire just waiting to snap.
"So," he finally said, glancing between the two, "What's the plan? You didn't just get dolled up for a random spree, did you?"
Harley looked up with a wicked little smirk. "Oh no, Ricky, this is way more than a spree."
Joker flicked a card—King of Hearts—up into the air and caught it on two fingers. "It's a message, Rick… addressed to some very powerful people who seem to have forgotten who they're dealing with."
Rick raised a brow. "Let me guess. Crime bosses."
"Ding ding ding!" Harley sang, pointing at him with her switchblade. "The big fish. The greasy-necked, ego-trippin', cigar-smokin' mobsters who think they can own Gotham."
Joker leaned forward, the limo's overhead lights catching the glint in his eyes. "They saw what we did at that little bank game show, and now they're scared. Not of the bloodshed. Not of the mayhem. Oh no…" He paused, tapping the King of Hearts to his temple. "They're scared of the data. The files."
Rick narrowed his eyes. "What files?"
Joker grinned like a magician about to pull the world's most horrifying rabbit out of a hat. "Every dirty deal, every payout, every name, every date, every dead body buried in the wrong place. All their secrets, all in one neat little file… and now we have it."
Harley crossed her ankles and added sweetly, "And they wanna blackmail us. Can you believe that? Like we'd give it up because they asked nicely." She pouted. "That's boring."
Rick scrubbed a hand down his face. "So instead of laying low, you're throwing them a party?"
Joker burst out laughing. "No no, Rick. A spectacle."
Harley twirled her blade like a baton. "With booby traps, gas bombs, a spinning wheel of death, and maybe even a bear trap or two—glitter-coated, of course."
"They wanna threaten us," Joker said, eyes darkening. "So we're gonna show 'em what happens when you try to out-crazy the King and Queen of Gotham. We're not giving back the files, Rick. We're giving them a lesson."
Harley turned, poking Joker in the chest. "And we're gonna make it look fabulous."
Rick let out a deep sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. "You two are absolutely insane."
"Thank you!" both said in unison.
Jonny called back from the front, "ETA is five minutes, kids. You might wanna prep your entrance."
Joker popped open a small hidden panel beside his seat—inside was a flask, a taser shaped like a lipstick, two smoke bombs, and a squeaky rubber chicken (that definitely wasn't just a toy).
Harley reached for her compact mirror, flipping it open to check her lipstick—still perfect. "Let's go cause a little disorder, boys."
—
Meanwhile…
The fluorescent lights in Amanda Waller's office cast a sterile glow over the room, reflecting off the myriad of monitors displaying various surveillance feeds. The hum of electronics was the only sound until the door creaked open.
"Ma'am," her assistant began, slightly out of breath, "Joker and Harley have just left their penthouse."
Waller didn't look up. "That's not unexpected."
The assistant hesitated, then added, "A fourth individual joined them shortly after."
That caught her attention. Waller's eyes narrowed as she turned to face him. "Show me."
He quickly pulled up the relevant footage. The screen displayed Joker and Harley exiting the building's lobby, laughing with Jonny Frost. They approached a sleek Rolls Royce limo, sliding into the backseat. Moments later, an unidentified figure entered the vehicle, leaving the door ajar for a brief moment.
"We're still trying to identify the individual," the assistant explained. "Whoever it is, they're skilled at evading surveillance."
Waller watched intently as Joker playfully punched the newcomer, and Harley leaned in, resting her elbow on his shoulder, laughing. The figure then closed the door, and the limo drove off.
"Track the vehicle," Waller ordered. "I want to know where they're headed and who this mystery guest is. Use every resource available."
She leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled under her chin, eyes fixed on the paused image of the trio in the limo. Her mind raced with possibilities, calculating the implications of this unexpected development.
The sleek black Rolls Royce limo pulled to a slow, purring stop in front of La Ville de Minuit, Gotham's most exclusive restaurant — the kind of place that didn't take reservations, it took bribes. A valet stepped forward like he was trained not to breathe too loudly around royalty. His hand froze halfway to the door when he realized exactly who he was about to greet.
The door opened on its own, and out stepped Harley Quinn, a vision in red and diamonds. Her heels sparkled like broken glass under the city lights, and her signature bat dangled casually from her shoulder like an accessory from hell's closet. Her blonde hair was curled to perfection, a soft wave of chaos flowing into pink and blue ends, and not a single curl out of place despite the insanity she radiated.
Right behind her, The Joker emerged in his purple trench coat, gold chains catching the light like they were flirting with it. His green hair was slicked back just enough to make him look like he might be sane — if you didn't look at the smile. The smile was the giveaway. Always.
Jonny Frost stepped out next, crisp in a tailored suit, scanning the street like a hawk with a bad temper. Then Rick Flag, stiff as ever, slid out with a subtle roll of his eyes. He wore a black jacket, jeans, and the aura of someone wondering for the tenth time how he got roped into this circus — but not planning on leaving anytime soon.
They didn't walk into the restaurant.
They arrived.
Joker held out his arm dramatically, and Harley linked hers with his, the two gliding through the gold-gilded double doors and straight into the VIP room like they owned the place. Which, given the nervous tremor in the manager's hands, maybe they did… at least for the night.
Around the giant oval table, the crème-de-la-crème of Gotham's underworld sat stiffly in their designer suits. Mob bosses, cartel leaders, black market royalty. And all of them looked like they'd swallowed something sharp the second Joker's grin hit the room.
"Boys, boys, boys," Joker purred, spinning in a half circle with his arms wide as if accepting applause. "We got your little invitation. Very fancy. We were touched. So touched, in fact, that we brought our own muscle!" He gestured back at Jonny and Rick with a theatrical flourish.
Harley leaned on the table with one gloved hand, tapping her nails against the polished mahogany. "So," she said sweetly, "you invited us here for a lil' chit-chat? Dinner and death threats? Or maybe… just maybe…" She tilted her head. "This got something to do with the drive we've got? The one full of juicy secrets, dirty little files, and enough evidence to send each and every one of you crybabies to the slammer?"
Joker let out a cackle. "Ohhh, don't be shy now. We know what you're thinking. You're worried, aren't ya?" He leaned forward, grin wide enough to swallow the room whole. "And you should be. 'Cause we've got the truth… and you've got a room full of lies. But hey — bon appétit!"
Harley flopped into the nearest velvet chair, swinging one leg over the other like a queen on her throne. "So what's it gonna be, gents? You're here to beg, bargain… or try and kill us before dessert?"
Behind them, Jonny gave a subtle warning look to a twitchy bodyguard near the wine tray, while Rick crossed his arms and stared down one of the younger mobsters until the poor guy started sweating bullets into his champagne.
The room was tense. The air was electric. And Joker and Harley? They were just getting warmed up.