The silence inside the Astoria Movie Palace was oppressive, broken only by the distant, echoing drip of water.
The air smelled of dust, popcorn decay, and the faint, sweet chemical signature of the Joker's customized gas—a psychological weapon more than a physical threat.
Lucifer moved like a ghost in his Modular Stealth Suit, his mind focused completely.
His Fundamental Insight was the shield against the setting, analyzing every shadow and structural fault.
His Basic Empath power registered only a concentrated spike of manic energy clustered on the main stage.
A single, heavily-lit spotlight illuminated the center of the stage.
Harley Quinn was there, but she wasn't filing her nails; she was standing perfectly still, holding an oversized, cartoonishly large wrench, her posture a coiled spring of controlled tension.
"Took you long enough, little Luce,"
Harley chirped, her voice projecting through the dead acoustics.
"I was getting bored. Did you bring the payment? Because I hate it when people show up empty-handed for a date."
"I'm here for asset retrieval, not conversation,"
Lucifer replied, his voice flat. He raised Lucifer's Sleeper.
"The contract is $200,000 upon delivery. Stand down."
Harley laughed, a sound that quickly dissolved into a pained, forced cough.
"The $200k? That's your inheritance, silly! We want you to have it! Just... not this life."
She tossed the wrench high into the air. It spun, catching the spotlight, and Lucifer's mind instantly calculated its trajectory and force.
CRASH!
The wrench obliterated the spotlight directly above him, plunging the theater into thick, disorienting darkness.
The battle began not with a grand explosion, but with sound and movement in the dark.
Lucifer immediately activated his Modular Stealth Suit's thermal and night vision.
He simultaneously engaged his Tier 8 Force Field, preemptively activating the powerful shield.
The Force Field shimmered into existence, completely silent and invisible in the darkness, but its neutronium-like sturdiness offered absolute protection.
"There's the little Luce we know!"
A booming voice echoed from the balcony. It was the Joker, amplified, theatrical, and laced with pure glee.
"You always were the best at defense! But you can't save what you can't see!"
From the darkness of the stage, a barrage of brightly colored, highly corrosive chemical squirts and razor-sharp throwing cards flew toward Lucifer's position.
They harmlessly impacted the Tier 8 Force Field, causing tiny, localized flares against the shield's surface.
Lucifer's Force Field Duration: 3:55 remaining.
Cooldown: 3:00.
Lucifer didn't move.
He used his vision and his Basic Empath to track Harley's movement.
Her energy was moving in chaotic, unpredictable bursts—a feint to draw him into a chase.
"Raven, secondary traps confirmed. I need a sonic map of the stage floor,"
Lucifer commanded.
"Affirmative. The stage is riddled with pressure plates—sixteen active zones,"
Raven reported.
Lucifer disengaged his Force Field, letting the brief 5-second usage count toward the Adaptive Upgrade perk.
He instantly sprinted toward the Stage Lighting Control Box—his original target—relying on his speed and Raven's auditory cues to navigate the pressure plates.
Harley intercepted him, her speed incredible, her face inches from his, tears of genuine hurt mixing with her painted smile.
She wasn't fighting to win; she was fighting to hold him.
"Why are you so cold, little Luce?! Why can't you just hug your sister?"
She screamed, grappling him in a tight, desperate embrace that was as dangerous as any strike.
Lucifer used the Lucifer's Sleeper at point-blank range, directing the sonic pulse not at her head, but at her muscular core.
She convulsed and fell away, momentarily paralyzed.
He kicked the Stage Lighting Control Box with a precise, heavy blow.
The theater plunged into absolute silence and darkness.
Lucifer dragged Harley into the gloom of the Prop Storage room.
The momentary stun effect wore off, and she was instantly lucid, but her usual fight was gone.
She lay on the dusty floor, restrained, her eyes fixed on him.
The sheer, physical exhaustion of the confrontation had broken her.
"It wasn't a show, little Luce,"
She whispered, her voice cracking.
"It was real. We wanted you back."
Lucifer paused. His Basic Empath was screaming at him:
"Sincere Pain," "Desperation," "Emotional Collapse."
This was not an act.
His Fundamental Insight warned him that the emotional truth was the greatest trap of all.
"The contract is simple, Harley. I will deliver you. I get paid. You leave me alone,"
He repeated, his professionalism wavering.
"You really don't get it, do ya?"
She scoffed, a genuine tear tracking through the white paint.
"This isn't about the money, little Luce. This is about you. You're trying to pretend you weren't born in the carnival!"
With a shuddering breath, she pulled a tiny, ornate, and clearly lethal poison capsule from her sleeve, pressing it toward her teeth.
"If you won't come home, then I'll make you prove you still care!"
She sobbed, raw, unfiltered despair radiating from her.
Lucifer's training, his Gear, his Force Field—they all failed to activate.
Tier 8 Sturdiness was useless against a sister trying to end herself.
He slammed his high-tech boot down, crushing the capsule an inch from her mouth.
"DON'T YOU DARE!"
He roared, his voice thick with the rage of a broken promise. He grabbed her, his face inches from hers.
"You don't get to take yourself out! You don't get to make it clean! I did what I had to do! It was hell, but I did it! And I am not going back!"
He pressed his forehead against hers, a moment of agonizing, raw connection.
"Don't test me like that, sis. Don't you ever test me like that again."
Harley froze. The tears flowed, but her lips curled into that painful, triumphant smile.
"Y-you still love me,"
She breathed, her voice filled with quiet wonder.
Lucifer recoiled, instantly activating the neural collar, locking her in place.
"That was a professional failure,"
He stated, his voice now flat, a mask of stone.
"You are an asset. I have a contract. Don't mistake survival instinct for anything else."
The Joker's laughter returned—a soft, warm, satisfied chuckle that echoed from the shadows.
He emerged, dressed in purple and green, but his hands were in his pockets, his posture relaxed.
"Oh, that's my little Luce!"
Joker called out, his voice affectionate.
"You still have that fire, little brother! You still care about your family!"
He walked over, patting Harley gently on the head.
"Well, Harley, mission accomplished. He still loves you. I told you he was just playing tough."
Harley beamed up at Lucifer.
"I knew it, Bro! He's still our Luce!"
Joker spread his hands, clearing the path to the tunnel.
"Go on, little brother. You won this round, tactically. We set up the contract. We gave you $200k. But we won the game. You need to know you haven't really changed."
He winked.
"And we needed to know you're worth saving. This was our plan from the start."
Lucifer stared at him, the full realization of their devastating psychological maneuver hitting him.
He had been so focused on logistics, he had ignored the one variable he could never calculate away: family.
He dragged Harley Quinn into the darkness of the tunnel, the silence broken only by the cold click of his gear.
He had been outplayed.
He had fulfilled the contract, but his world had just been irrevocably pulled back into the chaos.
....
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