Our bodies break
And the blood just spills and spills
But here we sit debating that
It's just a shame
My hand just kills and kills
There's gotta be an end to that

-Breaker by Low

Blood was everywhere and there wasn't much anyone could do to fix that. It poured from many, caused by a few. A jester-clad woman stood in the middle of the red scene, head tilted down, blue eyes staring at the ground. Her arms hung limply by her sides, a hand shakily trying to keep hold of the gun she had earlier waved around with great enthusiasm.

"Harley."

The voice rang out from a darkly dressed man standing in the shadows a few feet away from the woman. She barely nodded her head to acknowledge the man who wore a bat on his chest with pride. A few sniffles could be heard from the woman and so the hulking figure took a step towards her.

"Stay back, Bats. It's over, don't cha see? It's all over." Her voice sounded full of tears and a strangled sob seemed to burst from her lips, her body shaking even more. The Bat stayed silent and paused in his movement, knowing all too well what Harley was speaking of. "Harley, this is a chance to start over. You can just walk away from this." The only response from the woman was a desperate and choked laugh. "What are ya? Nuts? Sheesh, you're talkin' crazier than Mistah Jay!" she gave a listless giggle at her own joke, which only fell back into sobbing.

Said Mistah Jay was sitting (more like sprawled) across some crates, blood dripping from various wounds, but especially from the bullet wound to the head. His seemingly carved grin remained, as if he had gotten the last laugh after all, despite the obvious disadvantage to him. His ghost white face had only managed to become a sickly shade of grey, and his green hair had long since turned a darkened crimson. Harley didn't dare look at him, too afraid to make the situation any more concrete than it already was. She naively prayed that it was just a horrible dream. She prayed that she'd just wake up in Arkham and that her dreams were fed through anxiety because of all the meds they had hopped her up on.

Batman had no such delusions. He examined the Joker from a distance, mildly surprised that one of his biggest enemies had just dropped so easily from life. He then scanned the room and noted how that, even with the Clown Prince dead, he had managed to wiggle his way into seeing sure of the deaths of the men around and had done so through Harley's sudden shock and anger. Joker's pet was quite the animal.

"You can leave, Harley. Change your name, I won't even stop you." Batman was trying hard to persuade Harley out of any break down she might have, although it was clear that her break down had manifested in the form of bullets and broken necks. The woman in question shook her head in the negative, "No, no, no. Ya don't understand, Batsy...this is who I am. I'm Harley Quinn, a killer. I can't stop. I'll never stop, even if Mistah Jay is gone. I gotta live up to his memory, ya know? I gotta keep doing things in his name. Ya understand, right? This is my life, I gotta keep livin' it or I gotta die."

She sounded so reasonable, her voice only speaking in volumes of high thinking, but her words clearly showed her true colors. She was crazy, absolutely insane, and more so now than ever before. "Harley, I can't let you go on killing like this. I have to take you in." Harley nodded in understanding, biting on her lip for a second. She then looked up at Batman, "I get it. Ya gotta job ta do. I'm sorry." With that, she put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger. Her body jerked and she collapsed onto the ruby covered floor, adding her own shade to it all.

Batman stared on in disbelief.