The low hum of the Batcomputer filled the cavernous space, screens flickering with live feeds from Gotham's many corners. Rain drummed against the cave's entrance, the sound distant yet ever-present.
Bruce sat in his chair, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He wasn't looking at the screens—his gaze was fixed on nothing, deep in thought.
Behind him, Alfred approached, holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea. He set it down beside Bruce, clearing his throat. "You're not going to like what I have to tell you, sir."
Bruce didn't move. "Then don't tell me."
Alfred arched a brow. "I see. So you do enjoy living in ignorance?"
Bruce sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Just say it."
Alfred hesitated, then relented. "It seems Miss Quinn and her… um- partner have called it quits."
Bruce's eyes opened, wide with disbelief. "What?"
Alfred folded his hands behind his back. "Word on the street is that Harley Quinn has publicly severed ties with the Joker. By all accounts, she's moving on."
Bruce frowned, leaning back in his chair. "That doesn't make sense."
Alfred tilted his head. "What doesn't?"
Bruce's fingers tapped against the armrest, his analytical mind already at work. "Harley's entire life has revolved around the Joker. She's broken into prisons for him, risked dying for him, burned Gotham to the ground just to be with him. And I'm supposed to believe she just…left?"
Alfred gave a thoughtful hum. "Perhaps even the strongest obsessions burn out eventually."
Bruce wasn't convinced. He turned to the Batcomputer, pulling up recent footage of Harley. He played a clip of her stepping out of a club, blowing kisses to the paparazzi. She looked the same—same mischievous grin, same over-the-top energy—but something was off.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "She's up to something."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps you simply wish she were."
Bruce didn't respond immediately. He wanted to believe it, wanted to think Harley was finally free from Joker's grasp. But something gnawed at him.
Finally, he stood, pulling on his cowl. "I'm going to find out."
Alfred exhaled. "And here I thought you'd at least finish your tea first."
Bruce didn't humor him with a response as he disappeared into the Batmobile, the engine roaring to life.
—
The neon lights of a dingy Gotham dive bar flickered overhead as Dinah Lance—Black Canary—leaned against the counter, swirling a glass of whiskey. The bar was nearly empty, except for a few sketchy figures lurking in the corners.
She glanced at her phone, reading the message again.
Meet me. Girl business.
A sigh left her lips. She already knew who it was.
Before she could debate whether she even wanted to respond, the door swung open.
Harley Quinn sauntered in, dressed in her usual playful chaos—a red-and-black jacket, ripped shorts, knee-high boots, and that ever-present devilish smirk.
"Birdie, Birdie, Birdie! How's life?" Harley grinned, plopping down onto the barstool beside her.
Dinah arched a brow. "Cut the small talk, Quinn. What do you want?"
Harley pouted. "Geez, no pleasantries? No 'Hey Harl, nice to see ya'?"
Dinah took a sip of her drink. "I don't have time for games."
Harley leaned in, lowering her voice. "Fine, fine. I'll spill. Word on the street is that Roman Sionis is after somethin' big—a drive that's got all the dirt on Gotham's top crime bosses."
Dinah's eyes flickered with interest, but her expression remained guarded. "And why do you care?"
Harley shrugged, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger. "Well, Roman wants me to get it for him. But see, here's the thing—if he gets his grubby little hands on it, he'll use it to wipe out anyone who stands in his way."
Dinah's jaw tightened. "That includes a lot of people."
Harley nodded. "Bingo. Now, I ain't exactly a hero or nothin', but even I don't wanna see Gotham turned into Sionis' personal playground."
Dinah studied her. "So what's your angle?"
Harley leaned in with a grin. "Simple, doll. We keep it from him."
Dinah scoffed, setting down her drink. "And by 'we,' you mean…?"
Harley winked. "All the ladies who got a score to settle with Roman. That means you, that means Huntress, and that means Renee Montoya. I figure if we work together, we can snatch that drive and of course we don't give it to Roman, use it to burn his little empire to the ground."
Dinah shook her head with a smirk. "And let me guess—you just happened to have a change of heart after your breakup with Joker?"
Harley clutched her chest dramatically. "Oh, come on, Birdie! Can't a girl just wanna do a lil' good for once?"
Dinah gave her a long, skeptical look. "Fine. I'll set up the meeting. But if I get even a whiff that you're screwing us over—"
Harley cut her off with a grin. "Relax, hun. I ain't that bad."
Dinah sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of."
A warehouse on Gotham's east side—abandoned, crumbling, and riddled with bullet holes—was the kind of place where bad deals went down.
Harley had chosen it for exactly that reason.
She leaned against a rusted shipping crate, idly twirling a baseball bat in one hand as she waited. It was late, the city outside buzzing with crime as usual, but in here, the air was thick with anticipation.
Then, the door creaked open.
Dinah Lance walked in first, her black leather jacket tight around her shoulders. Renee Montoya followed, her badge notably absent, replaced by the weary look of someone who had seen Gotham's worst. And last was Helena Bertinelli—Huntress—her crossbow slung across her back, gaze sharp as a knife.
Harley grinned. "Well, if it ain't my favorite ladies! I was startin' to think you stood me up."
Dinah crossed her arms. "We don't trust you, Quinn. So let's just get to it."
Harley pouted. "Ouch. No trust? After all we been through?" She gasped. "Birdie, I thought we were besties."
Helena rolled her eyes. "Just tell us about the drive."
Harley clapped her hands together. "Right, right. Here's the deal: Roman wants me to steal a little ol' hard drive full of dirt on Gotham's top crooks. Names, bank accounts, bribes, everything."
Renee frowned. "Where is it?"
Harley's grin widened. "Now that's the fun part! It's sittin' all nice and cozy inside the Blackgate evidence lockup."
Dinah cursed under her breath. "Great. So we're supposed to break into a high security prison?"
Harley shrugged. "C'mon, it ain't the craziest thing I've done this week."
Helena narrowed her eyes. "And what do you get out of this?"
Harley's smirk faltered just for a second. A blink-and-you-miss-it hesitation. Then, it was back, brighter than ever.
"Oh, ya know… revenge, chaos, a little fun. And maybe—just maybe—a shot at gettin' a little revenge at Mistah J for leaving me."
Dinah groaned. "There it is."
Harley lifted her hands. "Hey, don't get all judgy! I need this drive to destroy Joker's reputation in Gotham. Roman don't know that, but you do. So… are we in this together, or what?"
The women exchanged glances.
Finally, Renee sighed. "Fine. But if you screw us over—"
Harley beamed. "Yeah, yeah, ya kill me. Trust me, I got it."
She clapped her hands together. "Now let's go steal us a hard drive."
—
Across the city, deep beneath Wayne Manor, Batman was already two steps ahead.
The Batcave was bathed in a dim blue glow, screens flickering as information scrolled past.
Bruce stood in front of the largest monitor, scanning the latest reports.
Alfred approached with a knowing expression. "I assume you're tracking Miss Quinn?"
Bruce didn't look away from the screen. "She's planning something."
Alfred sighed. "Ah, yes. Because a well-behaved Harley Quinn would be far too much to ask for."
Bruce ignored the sarcasm, eyes narrowing as security footage from Gotham's underworld played. Harley at a club. Harley meeting with shady figures. Harley whispering to Roman Sionis.
He tapped the screen, zooming in. "She's after something."
Alfred raised a brow. "Do tell, detective."
Bruce exhaled. "Sionis wants something stolen. Something valuable enough to make him trust Harley. That means one of two things—it's money, or it's leverage."
His fingers moved across the keyboard, pulling up records of recent police evidence transfers.
Then he found it.
A hard drive. Seized from a major bust. Containing files on Gotham's most dangerous criminals.
Bruce's jaw tightened. "That's it."
Alfred peered at the screen. "And if she gets her hands on it?"
Bruce clenched his fists. "Then Gotham will belong to the highest bidder."
He grabbed his cowl, his voice dropping into that signature growl.
"I won't let that happen."