Alex has finally freed herself from the Joker, but when an unlikely ally decides to swoop in and disturb Alex's peace...she'll have no choice but to call on Joker for help. Will it backfire on her? Probably so. Read to find out.
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Alex
The song fades, echoing through the crumbling ballroom like a ghost. One by one, Harley’s allies drop to their knees—entranced, glassy-eyed, weapons clattering to the marble floor.
I step through the smoke, breathless, dress torn, heart pounding.
Joker turns as if drawn to the sound of me—blood on his temple, shirt half ripped, that wild, manic spark flickering behind his eyes.
“You always did know how to make an entrance, kitten.” he says, voice rough but full of pride.
I grin. “And you always did know how to make a mess.”
He laughs—a dark, low sound that sends a thrill through me.
We move as one. He shoots; I hum. The ones that fight through my influence stumble, confused, easy targets for his bullets. We circle each other in perfect rhythm—gunfire, smoke, song, and blood weaving together like an old dance we both remember by heart.
“Reminds me of the old days,” he says, ducking behind a column.
“Which part?” I fire back, kicking a fallen weapon toward him.
“The part where I shoot people and you sing ‘em into submission.”
“We were quite the duo.”
“Still are, kitten.”
I don’t even realize we’re smiling through the chaos until Harley’s laughter slices through it. She’s standing on the shattered remains of the altar, shotgun gone, mascara streaking down her cheeks. But the grin is still there—sharp and cracked.
“Ain’t this sweet?” she shouts. “Mr. and Mrs. Maniac, back together again. Makes me wanna puke.”
Joker reloads, eyes narrowed. “You’re still talking?”
But she just spreads her arms. “Sure am, and we're not done. You didn’t think I'd have a plan B and C, did ya?”
The ground trembles.
From the blown-out courtyard windows, green vines slither through the cracks—thick, twisting, alive. They burst through the floorboards, wrapping around fallen chandeliers and the kneeling henchmen.
Poison Ivy steps through the smoke, calm and poisonous as a rose in bloom. Her gown shimmers with chlorophyll sheen, eyes glowing faintly.
“You always forget, Harls doesn’t travel without her garden.”
And then, electricity crackles—snap, hiss, BOOM—and Livewire lands beside her, neon hair sparking like a literal live wire.
“And her voltage,” she adds with a wink.
Harley tilts her head toward Alex. “Told ya I had bridesmaids.”
