Harley felt certain the name "Quinn" must hold some special meaning for Jack Kadere, but his answer was simply that it sounded good.
She didn't believe him, but as Jack began asking about the current situation in Gotham, she could only suppress her curiosity. She accepted the new name and told him what she knew.
Gotham was in chaos.
Complete, total chaos.
Bane had occupied Wayne Enterprises and seized control of the building, acquiring a stockpile of high-tech weapons and repurposing equipment originally designed for environmental cleanup into a nuclear fusion reactor. If it detonated, the blast would level the entire city.
After collapsing the sewers and trapping most of the Gotham police force underground, Bane had blown up the stadium during a live football broadcast, killing Dr. Lenny Pawell—the only person capable of disarming the reactor—in front of millions of viewers.
That still wasn't the end of it. Bane had also destroyed most of the bridges connecting Gotham to the mainland, leaving only one standing.
The Department of Defense deployed troops, but fear of triggering the bomb had turned them into unwitting accomplices. Instead of rescuing Gotham, they now guarded the sole remaining bridge. If anyone tried to leave the city, Bane would detonate the reactor.
Gotham had become a lawless land.
Order serves as a warning line, suppressing the darkness and impulses lurking in the human heart. When that line disappears, evil runs wild like a horse freed from its reins.
Criminals released from Blackgate Penitentiary armed themselves, committing arson, murder, and robbery without restraint. Before long, ordinary citizens began joining in. The first victims were the police officers who hadn't been trapped underground. Then came the wealthy, the politicians, and countless others who had once held power. They were dragged to City Hall to face the terrorists' judgment.
Word was that someone called Scarecrow presided over the trials.
He had once been a university psychology professor with remarkable achievements in chemistry, dedicating his career to studying the nature of human fear. His extraordinary talent led him to develop a fear toxin capable of forcing victims to confront their deepest terrors. Eventually he transformed into Scarecrow, taking pleasure in spreading panic and preferring to psychologically torture his opponents to death. He was considered one of Batman's most formidable adversaries.
"So it really is the plot of The Dark Knight Rises," Jack said, stretching. He smiled at Harley Quinn. "I'm hungry."
"I'll make something." She rose and walked toward the kitchen.
After Jack had kicked the apartment door open, it could no longer be locked. Perhaps because the place was too inconspicuous, or perhaps because of the body lying in the entrance, no one else had come by since.
Jack pushed the sofa against the door and stood by the window for a while, observing the street below. The chaos wouldn't be ending anytime soon.
He lowered the curtains. The living room dimmed.
Jack turned and walked toward the kitchen.
First Catwoman with her torn pants. Now the obedient, well-behaved Harley Quinn.
These consecutive encounters were making him like Gotham more and more.
He hoped this would last a little longer. His habit of growing bored with new things and losing interest quickly shouldn't have changed just because he'd transmigrated.
After all, there were so many interesting people and things in this world. It would be a waste not to enjoy them.
He came up behind Harley Quinn. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he slipped his hands beneath her arms, pulling her close and cupping her chest.
Harley's body stiffened.
"I really envy you," he whispered against her ear, "having your own airport at such a young age."
Airport.
Her own airport at such a young age.
Harley instinctively looked down. For a moment she even forgot her embarrassment as a single word echoed through her mind.
Flat. Flat. Flat. Flat…
"Do you… like big ones?" she asked quietly. To understand a person, start with their preferences.
"I like variety," Jack said casually. "Round, teardrop-shaped, conical... papayas, peaches, pears—every kind has its charm."
"Which do you like most?"
"None." He let go of her.
"How can there be none?" She turned her head to look at him.
Jack smiled. "If I had to pick, my favorite would be the next one."
Fickle, Harley thought.
"Don't be so quick to profile me." His smile didn't waver. "At least I haven't lost interest in you yet. Now hurry up."
Harley flushed slightly—he'd seen right through her. "Hurry up with what?"
"Cooking." Jack turned and walked away.
Growing up alone, Harley had learned to fend for herself early. Her cooking skills were more than passable. As they ate and talked, she found herself feeling an unexpected sense of warmth and ease.
Strange, considering they'd been shooting at each other just hours ago.