Predator. Prey.

Tatted.

Moments after I had regained my composure, and my breath returned to normal, I forced myself to gaze forwards at the lifeless mess I had created. The blood was still pooling by her head, and strange waves of blurry feelings crashed into the front of my brain: unfamiliarity, guilt, anguish, and despair were all raging inside me. My breath quivered as my lips barely formed the words,

"No."

Refusing to believe my actions had cost her life, I crawled over to her, desperately holding onto the hope that there was still time, I could still make things right.

Without warning, however, Joker grabbed me by my hair, pulling me up to my feet so I was facing him. I let out an exasperated wince, unable to stare into his glimmering blue orbs and I turned my head, trying to catch of glimpse of the crimson remains of my best friend. His loud voice growled with intimidation,

"Don't look at her! Look at me."

Cupping my head in his hands, he guided my eyes towards him, locking me in a trance as my reeling thoughts came to a standstill. His voice was low and hypnotic,

"You've been such a good girl. Own it."

I opened my mouth to speak, but he silenced me,

"Never look back. Life is too meaningless to consider anything a mistake."

His eyes grew wide,

"There are no mistakes. Only choices."

His thumbs rubbed circles along my jawline,

"And this is a choice we need to celebrate."

At the word celebrate, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He offered no explanation as he ran to a drawer on one of the many dressers, fumbling through it with impatient hands. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, and he hastily walked over to me, with a large, intricate needle in his hands.

"Wh-what is that?"

He gracefully unhooked the back of it, to reveal a black ink cartridge inside it. Then it hit me.

It was a tattoo pen, hooked to the ink dispensing machine.

He was going to permanently mark me.

I had passed all his tests, I had done everything he asked.

I had won him over.

And yet, staring at Alex's corpse, I couldn't help feeling like I'd lost.

His quiet laughter attracted my attention, and I saw him ushering over to a chair. I walked over to it, sitting slowly, watching his eyes. They were overpowering, but filled with elation.

This wasn't a celebration of death. This was a display of power, of ownership.

It was his fucked up way of saying, "I trust you now."

He pushed the lever on the needle down, and it roared to life, ready to pierce my glowing skin. He smiled down at me,

"I'm feeling, symbolic." He motioned to the machine, "I'll write any word you'd like; it's your choice."

He leaned down, closer to my face as he breathed,

"But I get to choose where."

I sat motionless in the seat, using every ounce of will power inside me to not look at her body. I thought I had abandoned guilt and sadness when I had a revelation inside the olive chemicals that dyed my skin, but yet here I was, wishing I could cry and scream and destroy this entire fucking office.

And then it approached my mind: the answer to a question Mr. J had momentarily made me forget about.

Harleen wasn't dead. She never was. And she never would be.

She was buried alive . And Joker had dug her grave.

I wasn't an inhuman, reckless flash of light that could mindlessly kill at his beck and call. I was human. I had a soul.

A soul that was just as fucked up as his now.

I was no longer pure, or innocent, or anything good. I was filled with evil, lust, desire, rage, and everything dirty.

There was no going back from here. It was time to suffocate Harleen, and become immune to her screams.

She was good, and Harley was not.

I needed a reminder that she still exists, but she is no longer in charge.

She was pure. Harley was-

"Rotten."

The word passed my lips the moment it had entered my mind. I looked up at Mr. J, eyes holding back tears,

"I want 'rotten', Daddy."