The following manuscripts are the writings in what seems to be an unpublished book, written by a citizen of the City of Gotham, USA. Its title is "Uninvited Guests: My Experience in Gotham." It was found in the wreckage of an apartment building on 10th Avenue, which had been set on fire, but thankfully the handwriting is legible and by all accounts still whole. The culprit of this crime is still being searched for. The author of the book has not yet been found either. We leave this book open to the public, in case there is anyone who could tell the Gotham Police Department anything of the citizen's - or the culprit's - whereabouts.

When it comes to living in Gotham City, you typically don't learn the rules of survival until it's too late. Me? I'm lucky enough to learn from the mistakes of others. You gotta learn a lot in a short time to increase the odds of living another day. Like how to be careful when it comes to showing or begging for mercy, because nobody sane even knows that word around here. That was one tip I hadn't been too keen to remember.

Now, I'm not saying we should all turn into the crazies that threaten to tear us apart every other week. We should stay as human as we can in this God-forsaken city. But you also gotta be tough. Weakness isn't tolerated by most, and especially by anyone who comes from that awful loony bin. If you know how to show the light at the right times, then sanity can score another five points, ten if you're lucky. Too bad my first act of stupidity resulted in a score of negative twenty.

I bet you want me to clarify on that statement, huh? Well, if you keep reading, you'll understand pretty soon. My recent past might help you with how to not wind up in my current situation. Or you might forget and slip up in twenty minutes. Who knows? At least it'll be a relief getting my troubles off my chest after such a long time.

This whole mess got started, oh, a few years ago. I lived in a different place, in an apartment of my own. Summer was ending, if I recall it right. The air was cold; the leaves were starting to show anything besides a green color. You know what I mean. It was October. Gotham's least favorite month. Surprised? After a visit from that Scarecrow guy on Halloween, trust me, you won't be. It's an annual thing for him. He's the life of the party in ways I don't wanna mention.

Anyway, I lived in a relatively safe part of town. Relatively. My apartment is more of what you'd call a studio apartment - the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom are all basically one room combined, with a separate bathroom, so I only needed to take just a few steps to get anywhere. I got a bonus with my apartment: a separate living room. Had my own fire escape, luckily enough; it was attached to the back of the main room, in the kitchen area, but you had to open a door to step out onto it. Most people don't have a fire escape, and it's considered another way to survival, to get one for your home. It's just about a necessity, believe it or not. And it's that fire escape that got me into such poor conditions.

Evening was coming in fast, and I had just made myself some cocoa when I happened to look out the window. There was a woman lying on my fire escape, not moving a muscle. She looked injured. Maybe a "loony" victim, who knew? So without much thought, I got a sweater on and hurried outside.

It was definitely a woman, and it didn't take rocket science to figure out she was unconscious. After a quick check around to make sure we were alone, I hosted her onto my shoulders and went back to the door to get inside. She didn't weigh much, luckily, and soon enough I had her laid out on the one bed in my apartment. Better that she recover inside than be victimized by a crazy outside.

Once I set her down, I took a look at her. Apart from various bruises - including a big one on her forehead - smeared lipstick that had a too-deep red shade, and the odd white smudge on her left cheek, she was quite a pretty-looking gal. Had long blonde hair that threatened to come free of the rubber bands which had turned it into two bangs. She had a red-and-black shirt, long-sleeved, and black pants, and one shoe was missing. The other that I removed from her right foot seemed to be of a high-heel style. I didn't get that part. Why would anyone wanna wear high-heels on a fire escape?

I thought it'd be best to make another cup of cocoa for her while I waited for her to come round. So I did, and was just checking to see if there were any spare marshmallows when I heard a moan, all quiet-like. Turned and saw the woman shifting slightly on the bed, so I went and got a cloth, held it under the running sink water, and went to place it on her forehead. But I'd barely put it on her bruise when her eyes, well, fluttered, and then slowly opened, then shut again, then opened a little.

"Where am I?" she asked faintly.

"Quiet now; don't move, missie. You're safe. You're inside, at my place. I'm not gonna hurt ya; don't worry. You've got a nasty bump on your forehead there. Just be happy you ain't dead."

"Who're you?"

"Morty. I'm an average guy, nothing big. You were out on my fire escape; looks like you hit your head or something. Are you thirsty? There's cocoa if you want some."

"Water, please."

"Water? Sure. Just give me a sec."

It took me a few minutes to find a cup. I'm always forgetting where most of those are.

"I hope you don't mind tap water," I said as I held the cup out to her. She shook her head before sitting up slightly and taking it. She suddenly started gulping it down nosily, not stopping till she'd drank it all. "Want some more?" I asked.

"Yes, please."

After another round, she cleared her throat and smiled, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. "Thanks." She seemed to be one of the rare few who could get over injuries fast. At any rate, her body and voice were fidgety with suppressed energy.

"Don't mention it. You feeling better?"

"I think so. My head hurts, but I'll get over it. What didja say your name was again?"

I took a seat in a chair near the bed and leaned back, somehow trusting this young lady with a high, chirpy-like voice that was full of bubbly cheerfulness. "Morty. What's yours?"

She seemed to hesitate, oddly enough, before smiling again. "Oh, just call me Harl."

"Okay...Harl." The name was a little hard to pronounce. "No offense, but I'm wondering, do you know how you ended up on my fire escape?"

"Well, I was out with" – She stopped again, and then continued – "a friend. We were doing some important stuff. Then I hit my head, silly me."

"What were you doing?"

Her pretty blue eyes narrowed. "That's not your business."

My stomach clenched. "Are you… Are you a prostitute?"

Her body stiffened and straightened like a stretched-out coil. "Ab-so-lute-ly not!"

I held up my hands in a sign of placation. "Hey, I'm sorry. But there are crazies all over, not to mention the Big Ones. It's dangerous out there, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"Sorry, it's just... No offense, but anyone would be a fool to be out there so late. Anything could happen. What did you need to do that was so important that you had to be out in the evening?"

"He said it had to be dark–" Her eyes suddenly widened and she stopped talking.

"Who's 'he?' Your friend? Why'd he say that?"

"He has his reasons."

"I hope so."

Her eyes flashed. "He does!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Really. But why would he want you out there?"

"We were on a mission. To get some money."

"But why at night? I mean, heck, you could do that at the bank anytime in the day–" A sudden thought came to me, and I stiffened. "Are you a pickpocket? A robber?"

"To most folks. But they don't understand..."

"I've heard that line before. You're not getting anything from me. I don't have anything valuable, after all."

She smiled again, and somehow this smile wasn't a pleasant one. She studied the well-manicured fingernails on her left hand that had a deep red polish on them. "Mr. J says that everyone's got goods, they just won't admit it."

"Mr. J? Who's..." An alarm bell went off in my head, and with it an all too familiar name. I stared at her, horrified. "You work for the Joker?"

She flipped her blonde hair back over a shoulder as she looked back up at me. "With him, you might say."

My legs tensed as I prepared to stand and defend myself if need be. "And what does that mean?"

She gave a big sigh of disgust, rolling her eyes. "What d'ya think? I'm a partner." A dreamy look came into her eyes, and her voice softened slightly. "I'm a partner who'll always love him back..."

I couldn't compute the truth for several seconds, then it finally clicked. I sprang to my feet, heart pounding as loud as a drum. "You're Harley Quinn?"

Her smile became a smirk as she remained sitting on the bed. "At your service." Her fingers drummed lightly on the bedcovers.

I took a few steps back, excuses and pleas running through my head. "L-look, I don't have anything–"

"Sure ya do. But I'm not in the mood for a shiny, just some sleep." She lay back on the bed again, stretching out luxuriously with a sigh. "And this is as good a spot as ever."

"Hey! That's my bed!"

She simply glared at me for a few moments. It was startling to see the change in her eyes, which were in an instant as cold as winter frost, but the difference in her now flat and hard tone of voice was even more scary. "Not tonight, bozo. I'm not leaving." My eyes went to the fire escape, and she laughed. "You're thinking of running, but ya can't escape without me knowing. Cos the door could always make a noise. And I'm a light sleeper. So don't even try it."

I slowly turned away and headed for the living room, shaking my head as I closed the room's door behind me. I couldn't believe how dumb I'd been. I spent the entire night praying that I would make it, so no sleep for me. The phone was in the kitchen, but I would have to pass through the bedroom to get there. She might be well enough to tackle me by then; from what I knew of her, she was a real good fighter who fought dirty, and she wouldn't be concerned with hurting someone. I had the strength, but she had the speed and flexibility. And the phone ringing would definitely wake her up, not to mention opening the door to the fire escape, so I couldn't leave that way. The apartment was on the third floor of a building, so even if I could get out of the window it'd be a straight drop down, not to mention I had a phobia of heights if the ground beneath me wasn't secure and solid. And who knew whether she wouldn't steal everything once she realized I was gone, maybe even move in? I didn't want to risk it, so I stayed there, unable to calm down.

Now that I think about it, I did end up falling asleep at some point. Exhaustion and worry can do that, you know. I remember waking up late – the sun was up and rising steadily, and the clock told me it was around 10-something – so I got up, and then remembered the night before. Felt scared all over again, but I thought I'd risk a knock. So I did. "Hello? Are you in there, missie?"

Silence. After a few more rounds of knocking and talking, I decided to take a chance, and opened the door a crack. I opened it fully once I realized the bed was empty. A quicker search of the room showed the same result. Harley had left, though not without traces – the bed sheets were wrinkly from movement, and a look through the kitchen showed that she'd made some cereal. I finally spotted a note on the counter, with the signature written in elegant cursive.

Hey Morty, thanks for the bed and food. I've left your stuff alone. For now. So don't worry! See you soon! :) -Harley Quinn.

I did a thorough examination of the place before I was satisfied that nothing had been taken. But it was really that note that bothered me, as if she was planning to come back. But why would she want to? I wasn't stinking rich like a few people I could name, even though I did have a credit card. I wasn't incredibly wise or romantic. I was just an average Gothamite, living my life as best I could in a fear-infested city. What did she want with me?

I found out why pretty quickly. Because she was back that night.

AN: I'm gonna need a beta or two for this story, because this is going to be one of my more planned stories with detail, and especially since I don't know how credit cards work - I'm not old enough to have one yet, you see. If anyone wants to offer, I would be very grateful.