Chapter 4
"... There are police helicopters located in that direction..." Harley's eyes pointed south.
"And in the opposite. West and East are free... Your boys, though, were smart for once, and brought an unnoticeable car in these parts. The police escorts were ours, as well..." She nodded as they started to get into the car.
"... But the choppers are real ones." Her eyes drifted once more toward the sky as she acknowledged one coming in audible range, but still not able to see it.
"There is a gas station about a minute up the road." She glanced over to the driver and nodded.
"... Once we're there, we have a B-ops, if you're so inclined to have a bit of fun... Seeing as of course now that you're out of the Asylum's grasp- your men are under your control again; I relinquish the power. I really don't like it all that much..." She glanced over at him, and gave a soft, strange smile, before glancing out of the window, and bit her lip.. The action was almost seductive, though not aimed in his direction.
"I'd rather watch, I don't like calling the shots so much."
"Hmmm...Well, you're a damn good second in command.... You're stayin' there..." He told her, before walking out to the second transport. He turned around by the backseat door, and he opened it, gesturing inside.
"... Harlequins first, madam." He said, in perhaps the most pompous of manners. Once both men were inside, he leaned forth.
"...Take me to base. We're blowin' shit up!" He said, excitedly, and cackled.
"...Time to send out little flare up into the sky, see if the batman doesn't go blind..." The door shut, and they were on their way. It did not take too long to make it to their next destination, and the car had not yet stopped when he pulled Harley out with him. Amid all the fast-pace, and the urgency, he was able to strike up a more interesting conversation.
"...Harleen...Quinzell. Lovely name. Lovely. But it just doesn't....reflect..." He said, as he pushed the door open to go into the building's lobby...
"...Just quite what you and me are, here.... No, no... I am... a Joker...and You, are Harley Quinn.... Get it? AaaaaHAHAHAH! Well, BOYS!" He said, jovially, as he lights flicked up, and he was greeted by the sick faces of his men...
"...Time now... to, uh, exercise our right to, uh, how do they say it? Bear arms." At that, he hoisted up a bazooka onto his shoulder, and smirked.
"...Even if they are really, really big arms."
She looked at the bazooka, and tilted her head to the side.
"... I must say, dear, that it is quite large... I guess it gets really hot when you use it a bit?" She glanced out the window, and looked at the people.
"... Oh, I doubt I'd be any use with THAT sort of thing..." She sighed.
"... I just can't aim too well, I'd end up hitting myself..." She leaned against the wall with a fake sigh... She glanced over at the others, each of which were giving her very disapproving looks.
She raised an eyebrow at them, and they looked away. They had each heard the second in command comment, and found it highly offensive. Each of them had been in his employ longer than she- some from the beginning, and yet she comes out of the blue and gets it right from the start.... No, these were not happy boys...
She glanced at them again, feeling the glares coming from them, and rolled her eyes.
"Now, now, I know all of you are..." He inhaled...
"... Excited to meet your new, uh, work partner here, so, uh, give her a nice round of applause..." His stare was alone good enough to make everyone else clap, though it was very lukewarm.
"...Ladies and Gents, Harley Quinn! Now, shut the fuck up and get in touch with your feminine side." He turned around, the bazooka swinging with him. He turned to the only woman in the room.
"...These men, so... Meh, so masculine, eh?" He mocked, before walking over to her.
"...Quinn, Quinn...Quinnnnneh....Quinny....Quinnnn... I'm sure you know how to rig explosives? No? Grenades? No? C4? No?...Claymores? Well, guess what... you'd better learrrn... 'Spart of the job description. Now, go ahead, go nuts." He patted her on the back.
"...So, anyone know...where the hell the batman is? 'Cause, we need to make sure he sees, uh, the billowing cloud of smoke coming from City Hall. Move."
She paused for a moment.
"... It's a Thursday."
She seemed to stop for a bit before glancing over at him.
"... He'll see." She sighed softly, and glanced at the explosives...
"... I know HOW to do them... I just prefer... Bigger ones..." She shook her head. "... And," Her eyes caught on someone.
"Aim an inch higher or you're going to waste that." The guy glared at her, but did so, and hit his target dead on.
Harley folded her arms over her chest and sighed softly.
"... Blowing people up is so... Impersonal.... It's like 'omg, I'm dying from fire oh noze who dunnit'... That's about it. In person, you can smile at them when they go..." She pouted a little.
"... This is more proving that your gun is bigger than their gun- a testosterone trip that I'm relatively tired of taking part in... After all, I've been on the other side of your fire more than once taking your boys and making sure they get relatively good cells..." All of a sudden one of the men finally recognized her, and glared.
"... She's one of the Arkham bitches! No wonder this was so easy! It's probably a trap for the rest of us too... I doubt that's even the J!"
At the comment, the Joker, whom was happily aiming at the building, stopped, dropped the bazooka, and turned around, walking over to the man who doubted his actual identity.
"...Not the J, hm? Hm?" His hand gripped the man's neck, firmly, a blade pressed against his cheek, now, as he glared, in the darkest of manners.
"...Oh, oh, they say I'm crazy. 'Youuuu're crazy, Joker...' And, no...I'm not, how many times do I have to say? I, however.... have, uh, never had anyone doubt who I am..." He pressed the blade a bit harder at the terrified man...
"...Or try to say that my identity was made part of, uh.. a ruse..." He grabbed the man's head, by the hair, hard, and pulled him to his cheeks.
"...Look at me. LOOK AT ME. What do you see?" The man was panting and shuddering, wincing in pain...
"...S-scars...?"
"...Yes, yes... And, do you...know....how I got these scars?" He asked him....
"...See, I...once had a twin brother. Juuust like me. Well, except one thing: He... He was bad...And, no, I don't mean like something simple...I mean... that he...was rotten. See, he..." He licked his lips, and his eyes shifted to look around at the stares of other men, frozen in place...
"...He had a niiiice little drug addiction, and whenever he did something and got caught, he'd always blame.... Ta-da! Me. And he... Did many...many things. Many. Things. That were bad. Like, my sister. He, uh, sold her. To the slave trade. And, of course, he, uh, blamed me.
"So, one afternoon, I find him. Bragging. About my poor sissy. So, after I make sure he never gets to blame me again, I... I take my blade, and press it to my cheeks. Like this! And, I start making myself feel...different." He slid the blade, hard, across the man's face, and a scream was heard as he drew blood and flesh...
"...And realizing, this was not enough, I went to the other cheek!" He related, going to the other part of his face.
"...And repeated the process. And I...was.... different." And he cut the man's remaining side of his face, dropping him to the floor.
"...And now, /you're/ different." He turned around, to the stare of his men.
"...Now, before any of you fine gentlemen confuses me with my dear brother, let me assure you: He...is dead. So, never..." His voice got lower...
"...ever.... Doubt my orders. EVER. Now, let's keep goiiing!"