The acid swirled around me, wrapping my skin, flooding my mouth and nose and eyes. It pierced my flesh, peeling it away, eating me alive.
I gagged. A bubble escaped my lips and floated into the yellow murk. Something in the back of my mind told me that was upwards. I swam desperately after it. White spots bloomed in my vision.
My head broke the surface. I tried to yell for Jay but couldn't move my tongue.
I'm alive, I kept thinking. Jay could be alive, too.
I paddled blindly, feeling nothing beyond my stinging flesh, finding the edge of the vat when I bumped into it. Somehow, I found the strength to heave myself out.
Was I on fire? Was my skin sizzling like bacon in a pan? I wondered if anything would be left of me — if I would become a pile of ash, or less.
But a long moment passed, and I stayed conscious.
That stupid girl. I should have splattered her brains across the wall the moment she spoke. If not for her, Jay wouldn't have had to shoot the assault rifle so recklessly. We would still be upstairs — maybe with a hole in the wall, but definitely not with one in the floor.
I became aware of the wailing alarm, and the feel of the cold cement beneath my skin. The burning subsided. I opened my eyes to a warehouse-like room yawning before me, full of vats and barrels and ominous warning labels that made me think no living thing should be here without a hazmat suit.
My eyes locked onto Jay. He was on all fours, retching. Alive. He caught his breath and scrambled towards the rifle that did this to us.
I sat up, trembling, and cast around for another weapon. Several littered the floor — including my pistol. I heaved myself to my feet and snatched it.
My clothes had mostly been eaten. Rags hung from my body. Beneath, my skin was intact, but pale. More than pale. The acid had bleached my skin.
I didn't have time to panic about that. Above, the police had arrived on the third floor, shouting. Someone silenced the alarm.
"We gotta go," I said, my voice a croak. I pulled Jay by the armpit.
Jay raised the assault rifle with a grunt and blasted a hole in the wall. The recoil made him buckle over. I held onto him, refusing to let him fall again.
We ran to the bus-sized window to the outside world, stopping at the edge. We were two storeys up. The wind billowed, whirling under my torn clothes and over my damp skin. I shivered.
Overhead, the police shouted. They wanted us to surrender.
Jay reached for my hand. I linked our fingers and squeezed.
An apple tree grew below us. We aimed for it, and jumped.
"North wing," a cop shouted. "They're headed—"
My stomach swooped at the free fall. After the pool of acid, the tree branches felt like a foam pit. We shinnied down and sprinted into the darkness.
The chain-link fence ran beside us, topped with a coil of barbed wire. I began to wonder how we would get out when I saw an opening.
I skidded to a stop.
"Puddin'! Here!"
The fence curled at the bottom, a hole big enough for a dog. Jay dropped and pushed the rifle through, then crawled after it. I followed.
We ran along the back of the research facility, staying away from the main roads. Sirens split the air.
A drunk man and woman in the alley called to us as we approached. They shut up when they saw our weapons.
The tumult from ACE faded into the distance. I stayed half a step behind Jay as we ran, letting him lead.
We kept running until my lungs were ready to burst and I wanted to vomit.
After a series of alleys and dark side-streets, we paused, listening for sirens or footsteps. Nothing. We turned on a final sprint to Jay's apartment.
We stumbled inside and crumpled on the living room floor, coughing and wheezing too hard to speak.
For a long time, we sat there, catching our breaths and wiping sweat from our faces. The only light came from the streetlamps outside.
"You all right, Mister Jay?"
My voice was so weak, I barely heard it.
"My skin," he said. "Look what it did to me."
We were both ghosts — hair, skin, even eyebrows. The most colourful thing about Jay was his eyes, which were, blissfully, still green.
I crawled closer. "It's okay, puddin'. We can fix this."
"We can't! You think this is like a suntan that'll fade in a few weeks?"
"No, but—"
He shoved me away.
But we had survived. We were together. We'd gotten the weapons like Jay had wanted. That was what mattered. I couldn't let this stumble ruin everything.
My purse sat by the entrance. I reached into it with trembling hands.
"Look. We need a little makeup, is all. All good criminals need a disguise, don't they?"
He narrowed his eyes, seeming to consider.
I swiped my lipstick on thick, then reached for my eyeliner. I tried my best without a mirror. I drew a black line over each eyelid from forehead to cheek.
"I'm a harlequin! Get it? Harley-quin."
He stared at me. After a long moment, he started laughing. I laughed with him.
"Harley Quinn," he said, reaching for my lipstick. "You think the world will run from a pair of clowns?"
I twirled my pistol. "They'll run."
Jay opened his hands and studied his white flesh. "A disguise..."
He rubbed his fingertips together. I wondered if he felt the same sting across his flesh as I did.
His eyes widened. He looked up at me, thin lips cracking into a grin.
"Harley, we don't have fingerprints."
I examined my fingers. The acid had peeled away layers of skin, leaving a fresh, unidentifiable one.
Jay caressed his rifle. "You know what we can do with this power, baby?"
"Anything we want?"
"Exactly."
We had weapons, disguises, and the desire. We could pull off perfect crimes.
I grinned, sliding my hand over my pistol, feeling the prize beneath my tingling skin.
"Well, Mister Jay, what do you want to steal first?"
*
Jay squeezed the trigger. The assault rifle blew away the glass doors, the walls beside them, and the security guards in the entrance.
As I bounded into the casino, everyone inside screamed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," I said, opening my arms. "I present your evening's entertainment: the one and only Mister Jay!"
The sight of him stepping through the opening set my heart aflutter — assault rifle in hand, dust swirling around him, eyes blackened, thin lips painted into a devilish red grin, hair dyed to match his green eyes. He wore a tuxedo, and for effect, he'd pinned on one of those flowers that squirts water.
"Thank you, Harley Quinn," he said, giving me a wink that turned my knees to jelly.
At once, several security guards closed on all sides, bellowing. "Drop your weapons! Get down!"
I shot four in one motion, spraying thirty bullets at once. Jay blasted away the rest, plus anyone near them.
Save for the ringing in my ears, the room fell silent. My pulse accelerated, bursting with adrenaline. I scanned the bodies. All those lives had been snuffed because of me. Because of us.
"Now, for my second trick," said Jay. "If everyone could please hand over their wallets, you'll see me make them disappear."
I pranced to the nearest blackjack table and pulled a pillowcase from my sleeve. The men and women at the table dropped their wallets inside like hot potatoes.
Their mouths hung open as they stared at me. I wasn't sure if it was my pistol or my attire. I ran a hand over the red and black harlequin bodysuit, relishing the stretchy material.
Jay strode to the cashiers' booths and looted those.
"Hey, Mister Jay, why don't they play poker in Kenya?" I said while the next table produced their wallets. "Because of all the cheetahs!"
Something whizzed by my ear and blew a hole in the wall behind me. I ducked.
"I'll see your bullet and raise you one," shouted Jay.
I plugged my ears.
The room shook, dust billowing. When I stood, two poker tables were now holes in the floor, and bodies lay around them.
"Anyone else wanna play?" said Jay.
The room was silent. The casino scent of cigarettes, fried food, and cologne had been replaced with a mix of burnt plastic and fear.
I straightened my jester hat. While more patrons unloaded their wallets, I scooped up a deck of cards and threw them overhead. They fluttered around me like confetti.
I picked up the one that landed in front of me. "Ooh, Mister Jay. It looks like you."
He finished looting the cashiers' booths and strode over. He took the card from me, tilting his head.
"I can see the front page," he said. "Casino heist by The Joker and his harlequin."
I gave a squeak of delight, then stood on my toes and kissed his cheek.
"Of course, you'll still be my Mister J. But J is for Joker."
He tucked the card into his jacket's inner pocket.
I backed into the middle of the room, wiggling my shoulders to a tune that wasn't there, exhilarated by the way everyone gave us their rapt attention.
I held out a hand and said in my best sexy voice, "Dance with me, Mister J."
He laughed, that sweet sound I wanted to bottle up and keep.
He took my hand and twirled me, pulling me into his chest. He bit my ear, sending a shiver to my toes, then let me go. He swept towards the slot machines.
"Come on, folks," I said, shaking the pillowcase. "Place your bets! We pay out fairly. Promise."
A middle-aged man with pockmarked skin stood. "Why don't we bet on which of you clowns will get shot down first: the green-haired freak or his henchwench."
"Oh, that's really funny." I sauntered over, twirling my pistol. "You want to join our act? Go on, tell another one."
"I ain't giving you my wallet," he said. "You think you're gettin' away with something here — but you and your freak boyfriend will be leaving here in a hearse."
I slammed him in the chest with two hands. He stumbled but stayed on his feet.
"Call Mister J a freak again, mister."
He wound back to punch me, and I kicked him in the groin. He buckled over. I stepped in and kneed him, then gave a hard uppercut, hook, and finished with a hammerfist, sending him sprawling on his stomach. He curled on his side with a pathetic whimper.
I kicked him. He slid a couple of inches. I kicked again, rolling him on his back.
He swung at the back of my knees. I hopped out of the way, then came down hard on his ribs with my elbow. Something cracked. He spluttered.
I straddled him and punched his face. One, two, SNAP!
Blood poured from his nose, warm on my fingers. One, two, three,
He was unconscious. I kept punching, watching the blood spray, covering his face, my hands.
Someone was shouting my name.
"Harley! Stop!"
Arms wrapped around my waist and I found myself lifted into the air. I flailed for a moment before Mister J spun me to face him.
I steadied myself. Mister J's eyes were wide, his jaw slack.
He licked his lips.
I laughed. The sound started deep in my throat, a low chuckle, and then rose, uncontrollable.
I kissed him, then pulled away, still laughing. I noticed a red smear on his chin and realized it came from my face. I looked down and saw blood all down my front and on my hands.
Sirens wailed outside.
"Got carried away, didn't I, boss?"
Blood pooled at our feet. The man was a pulp, unrecognizable. He wasn't breathing.
Mister J stared at me with a funny expression, like he couldn't decide whether to laugh.
"No, baby. You're wonderful."
He grabbed my hand. I picked up my pillowcase and my pistol, and we ran for the back door.
Mister J aimed his rifle at the wall and we blasted out of there.
I let out a giggle, unable to contain my elation. The Joker and his harlequin, unidentifiable, unstoppable, were on their way to becoming Gotham's most notorious criminals.