Disclaimer: I do not own Batman.
Crawling over her window, Bonnie collapsed into her room. She wanted to vomit, but she couldn't.
The same thought pounded at her head. How did she even think she could sneak past a group? How could she not realize she was sneaking past the Joker and Harley Quinn, of all people? They could have killed her, and they almost did. They murdered anyone in their path, and Bonnie just had to be the idiot that got herself caught.
Bonnie curled as her stomach twisted, and her top hat fell to the floor. Something like this had never happened to her before. At worst, the police came earlier than usual, but she always got away. Bonnie would have never expected to actually run into a rogue, let alone more than one and the most notorious ones in the city.
It wasn't normal at all for anything like this to happen, but the Joker and Harley Quinn knew she existed. The Joker and Harley Quinn.
What if they wanted to finish what they tried to start? They probably didn't like when anyone escaped from them, but tracking her would have taken them time unless—
Bonnie turned to the window. In the skyline, smoke emitted several miles down. Straight down.
The urge to vomit crept up Bonnie's throat again. She didn't change directions when she got back to the orphanage; she made a beeline straight for it. Maybe they didn't stay long enough to see where she stopped, but she knew that the Joker would have put two and two together. He would have known where she was heading.
He would come for her, and Harley Quinn would, too. Bonnie might have gotten away for the night, but she certainly didn't get away from them forever.
Bonnie trembled. She had no idea what she was supposed to do if they went after her. Running away was the best option, but that would have been stupid at the moment. She could live on the street, but if the Joker didn't ambush the orphanage in the best case scenario, then she would have created a huge issue for nothing. Being homeless wasn't great compared to having a roof over her head, and if she went back in the case the Joker didn't attack, the workers at the orphanage would have labeled her a flight risk if they found her on the streets. They would have increased security, and that would mean no more nights as the Ringmaster.
She shook her head. That wouldn't work.
What was she supposed to do then? Wait?
Bonnie bit her lip. It didn't look like she had another choice. She could prepare for the worst—maybe come up with an escape plan—but there wasn't much she could do. If the rogues didn't come after her, then she would be fine. If they did...
Bonnie gulped. Maybe she should start with the escape plan now.
Warm brown cloaked the living room of the orphanage, turning the dust yellow in the light. The same seven people, among others, hung around lazily with a few others downstairs, a few days after their fight over the television remote. The twins talked about nonsense that no one understood, except for themselves. Little Darla curled up on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep.
A few of the older children slumped on the couch and waited for the news to end. In a few minutes, their favorite show would come on, but they had to wait for the anchorman to stop droning on. The only interesting thing that he reported was of a young thief stealing blocks of money and cakes successfully, but that just made the kids' stomachs grumble.
Away from the couch, Skipper and Renée played chess in the shadows. The boy moved his black knight.
"Checkmate," he said, smirking at the red-haired girl. Renee's shoulders hunched forward and was about to sigh at her defeat, but her bright blue eyes wandered to the ceiling.
Above the duo, two attached wall lamps momentarily flickered and vibrated. The people who were awake hesitated to look up. When it happened again, a couple of the teenagers stood up.
The lights dulled again as a brown-haired boy quickly closed his book, and Darla fluttered her eyes open. Even the twins silenced when the two green vases on the fireplace shelf shuddered. Then, it started.
It all happened very quickly. An eruption burst through the door, and pressure from the explosion knocked down anybody standing up. Buzzing roared through the ears of everyone in the room, but they heard enough to make out gun shots closing in. Roars of hyena-like laughter made the teenagers pale.
A very tall figure wearing curls of green hair and an infamous purple trench-coat strolled inside. The criminal shuffled a deck of cards as his goons ran across the room, and the screeches reached a piercing height.
Bullets hit the random chessboard pieces flying in the air, and the Joker playfully threw a bag of exploding marbles at the couch the twins once sat on.
Oh, the sweet sound of innocent little children and bratty adolescents! the Joker thought. If only I still had that amusement park...
The Joker looked to the side and saw Harley enjoying her time with a young girl that looked like she was about to cry. Rocco, Ace, Spades, and all those other henchmen he didn't care about did their best to terrorize the teenagers. Still, they weren't a part of the plan. He needed to find that kid.
Where was she...? the Joker thought, looking in all directions.
Suddenly, he caught a flash of red hair. Perfect!
He switched on his small pocket knife, which reflected in the shattered vases and pictures of other children. Soon, the girl's face reflected in the silver, and the Joker stalked up to her.
Within a few seconds flat, Renée was pinned against the wall by the Clown Prince of Crime. Terror pumped in the girl's heart.
"Well, that was certainly rude, what you did some nights ago," The Joker said. "You did realize I was going to find you, didn't you?"
Renée trembled, certain that she was going to die. Then, his words sunk in.
"What...what..." she muttered, until it dawned on her. "NO! That wasn't me! That wasn't m-me! I don't know what you're talking about!"
Renée mustered up all the courage she had to yell at the most dangerous man in Gotham. For a ten-year-old girl, that was either really, really brave or really, really stupid.
Whether it was by her bravery or stupidity, the Joker wasn't the least bit amused.
"Oh, really..." the Joker said. He adjusted his flower, knife still in hand. Tears cascaded down the girl's cheeks, and she prayed that a savior would come.
"Stop," a growl boomed from behind. The Joker perked up.
It almost sounded like...Batsy!
"Oh, Bats, come on, you're ruining my fun..." said the Joker, turning around to see...not Batsy.
Instead, it was a brunette teenager, with murder in her eyes. She couldn't be any older than seventeen, but she looked somewhat familiar. She had one of those large kitchen knives in her hand, and she gripped onto a small chair light enough for her throw at someone in her other hand. Also, the brat had a gas mask on.
Smart girl for wearing that... the Joker thought, eying the poisonous flower on his coat. But not smart enough!
The Joker laughed as the teenager growled, pointing the knife at him.
"Hey, kid, don't play with that," the Joker's said. "You might just get someone hurt!"
He flung the girl in his grip to the ground. Renée scrambled away, but the brunette stood her ground, her gray eyes glinting at the Joker.
"You killed her," she stated, badly hidden anger seeping through her voice. The Ace of Knaves sneered.
"Her?" the Joker said. "Oh...you're one of those. Trying to avenge the dead against the big, bad Joker, I see? Was it a friend? A sister? Cousin?"
The teenager scowled.
The Joker laughed, "Or maybe your mother...?"
"Shut up!"
Time went quick after that. The chair hurled into the Joker's direction, and it impacted the wall behind him. It missed him by an inch.
The girl's shoulder flinched as the knife shook in her hand. Her arm lunged at the Joker, but he grabbed her arm. The teenager screamed as the joy buzzer shrieked into her arm, and her knife clanked to the floor. It felt like hours until the electrifying pain came to a stop, and she felt his other hand pressure her neck. Her eyes widened considerably once she saw his once electric hand hold a cold object to her forehead.
The Joker, gripping his gun, grounded his teeth at her.
"So...your mother?" the Joker said, smirking.
The girl answered by gathering up all the saliva she could in her mouth and ejecting it at his teeth. The Joker's head automatically turned sideways, and his chalk-white face flushed. Veins sprouted in his flashing green eyes.
"She must be very proud of you," he said, before he pulled the trigger. Nothing came out.
The girl grimaced. It was like she knew that she was going to die, and she was annoyed that he was delaying it for so long.
Squinting his eyes at her, the man said, "Er...what's your name again?"
"Jenny!"
The two both turned to see a little girl with a bob-cut cry out for the teenager.
"Jenny!" the child–Darla–cried, fighting the henchman that was holding her back. "Let her go, you meanie!"
The Joker chuckled as the little girl attempted to fight the henchman carrying her away. The teenager–Jenny, she was called–groaned, and the Joker turned back to her.
"Well, guess that didn't take long," he said. His fingers pressed on her jaw. Jenny, no matter how hard she tried, couldn't ignore her muscles tightening and her heart racing and her blood going cold.
"Why does it matter?" she spat. The Joker gave a theatrical shrug.
"Oh, it doesn't matter," he replied, relishing the screams in the background, "just figuring that you're the mother hen in this establishment, trying to make up for the incompetent staff."
Jenny scoffed. "And now you're killing them. I guess that's funny to you?"
The criminal hacked out a laugh.
"No, it's not that," he said, dilly-dallying the gun pointed at Jenny's forehead. "It's just that it's funny that despite you trying to protect the little orphans from destruction, one of your little orphans is causing destruction."
Something in Jenny's eyes flashed.
"What are you talking about?" she said, gritting her teeth. She felt more pressure against her temple.
"Oh, you know," the Joker said, casually. "One of your orphans might secretly be an arsonist, and she's been right under your nose the entire time. She was why I came here, after all."
"What?"
The Joker laughed at her disbelief.
"I met her after she blew an apartment building to bits," he said, pleasantly. "The last time I saw her, she was heading here."
Jenny shook her head.
"You're lying, you–"
"She's a little kid, you see," the Joker interrupted, his falsetto ringing. "Red hair, short, in a ringmaster's costume, like she was a rogue herself!"
The rage in Jenny's eyes at the man suddenly dimmed, being replaced with a crack of introspection–like she was actually thinking about who that could be. She was whispering names now, but she kept repeating one name, one that the Joker couldn't make out. Then, her face paled.
"That's not possible," Jenny whispered. "You can't be serious."
Now, the Joker was completely grinning.
He finally chortled, "Actually, I am serious. You can say that that's a part of the joke."
Finally, he snapped her loose gas mask off, and he pinched the flower on his coat, spraying Jenny's face.
"Ha, ha, ha."