A collaborative story between Sickerton and lasthero
Morgan Allen made his way down the halls of the Gotham City Police Headquarters, taking a shortcut past the holding cells on his way to the loading bay. Sure enough, he got the usual greeting from the current inmates, who were currently filling said cells to the brim.
"Fuck you, cop!"
"I ain’t done shit wrong, when I get out, I’m-"
"I want a lawyer! Where’s my goddamn lawyer?!"
Morgan sighed and kept on moving, ignoring the jeers from the peanut gallery while he reconsidered his life choice. Namely, he was starting to seriously regret his decision to become a police officer.
Actually, no, that wasn’t true at all. He was starting to regret his decision to become a police officer in Gotham City.
Morgan imagined he wasn’t the first person to have that feeling. In fact, he knew he wasn’t for a fact. Ever since he’d been transferred over from Bludhaven, he’d heard reports about how horrible it was here, how unrewarding the work could be, how dangerous and generally unconducive to your health it was. He knew it would be tough, but he figured that he would tough it out, keep nice and quiet make his way up through the ranks until he got a desk job. Something that paid well, and didn’t include him getting blown up, shot, stabbed, frozen, burned alive, or any of the hundreds of ways an honest cop could die in Gotham City.
He might have made it, too. Three months so far, and the most strenuous thing he’d run into during patrol was a group of Joker wannabes trying to get into the purse snatching business. He was doing a good job, impressing all the right people, and there was some word of moving him up.
Then Batman went AWOL, and all of that was quickly flushed down the toilet.
Reports were sketchy and varying. Some said that Batman had deliberately sabotaged the Ace Chemical plant, with the intention of taking Joker out and making people think he was dead. Others said that Joker had planned to make the place explode and release his laughing gas, but Batman put the kibosh on that at the last minute. A couple of unconfirmed reports had Superman in the area.
The only thing that Morgan gave credence to was the claim that both Batman and Joker were caught in the blast and, most likely, dead. And the only reason he believed that was because he and the entire city were living the inevitable effects of that. Namely, Gotham City had gone straight to hell.
At first, they tried hard to keep the rumors in check. It was hardly the first time the Batman had gone missing, and Commissioner Gordon had protocols in place to maintain the illusion. Flashing the bat signal every night, spreading a few rumors that Batman may or may not have been involved in a robbery. A little song and dance, and it was enough to stem the tide for a couple of weeks.
But it didn’t last. Sure enough, the truth started to slip through the cracks. Too many of the big level freaks were getting away without the Batman showing up. It was impossible to pinpoint when the shit exactly hit the fan, but when it did, everything started to go tits up. Gang shootings, turf warfare, mass homicides as every two-bit hood with a gun and some bullets to spare tried to carve his name in the city’s heart. The fine men and women of the GCPD were up to their assholes in, well, assholes.
And that was why they had to call in the big guns. Or, rather, the bigger guns, getting in a supply of weaponry from STAR Labs. Not Commissioner Gordon’s typical style, but desperate times needed more desperate measures.
Sure enough, the truck was pulling up right as Morgan made his way to the loading, backing in nice and slow. Large truck, full of goodies that would help them even the score and at least give them a fighting chance against the Batman’s typical sparring partners.
"Right on time!" Morgan called out and stuck his head around the corner, throwing a thumbs up at the driver as the truck settled against the dock. He dropped down, unhooked the latch, and let the door slide on up. "Okay, let’s see what we’re working with-"
Morgan didn’t see what hit him. Not exactly. He opened the door, and all of the sudden there a flash of something coming out from the darkness. A loud, metallic clang rang out through the dock and down he went, his vision swimming as his brain flirted with unconscious. Not quite out, but close.
When his vision cleared enough to see what was going on, he found himself wishing he had been knocked out.
"H-Harley…" He spat out a mix of blood and teeth as his head rolled to the side and he weakly tried to sit up. "Harley Quinn!"
"Say my name, say my name!"
Harley Quinn emerged from the truck with her baseball bat dragging alongside her, scraping against the floor as she walked. There was a little swing in her hips with every step, a little smile on her lips. She’d been a bit down since the Joker - her love, her soulmate, her partner, her consort, her reason-to-be, her precious, her darling, her Mister J - got killed by the big, stupid bat, leaving her all alone in the world... except for the ten henchmen she had, yeah. But why count them?
Tonight, though, was all about turning her frown upside down, as she reclaimed the second and third most important things in her life. And, also, killed a lot of cops along the way, as well as secured a bunch of weapons the GCPD’s vault, ensuring that, when Joker eventually came back from the dead - he always did, sooner or later - that she’d have a stable, booming foothold in the underworld for him to take control of. But mostly she was here for the former thing.
Her men - or the Joker’s men who were her men until he came back and claimed them, if you wanted to be technical about it - emerged from the truck and flanked her, each of them brandishing the nice, shiny hi-tech gizmo weapons that they’d acquired from hijacking this shipment. She didn’t even know what half of this stuff did, but there was a whole station full of targets for them to test it all out on. Fun times.
"All right, boys!" Harley held her bat high in the air as her men surrounded her, getting ready for the games to begin. "You know-" Harley paused as some movement caught the corner of her eye. The officer she’d konked on the way - bald, fat, runty-looking guy - wasn’t quite as dead as she’d been going for. He was still alive, and reaching for the radio at his side. "One sec."
Harley strolled over, raised her boot up, and smashed it down on the lardbucket’s wrist before he could even get the radio close to his swollen, bloody mouth. He opened his mouth to scream, but she took care of that a gag - or, rather, she shoved the skinny end of her bat into his mouth and rammed it down his throat. Worked well enough.
"There we go, baby, work the shaft." She swiveled the bat around a bit, grinding through his teeth as he writhed about on the floor. "Sorry, but we got a little surprise party going on here. Can’t have you spoiling it, right? That’d just be plain uncivilized."
Harley yanked the bat out roughly and held it up high, rolling her tongue around her jaw as she took aim. Morgan raised a feeble hand up, as if he was trying to block what he knew was coming. Surprise, surprise, it didn’t really work.
Down came the bat, smacking his arm and the top of his head at the same time and making a nasty gash on impact. What little defense he had fell away, leaving him glassy eyed and stupefied.
Another blow, this one crashing against his cheek. He was going to need some serious dental work after this, looked like. Or, he would if he was still alive. Which he wouldn’t be.
"And strike three!"
Down came the bat for the final blow, landing right on his nose, which should’ve sent all the bone straight into his brain like something out of a Kung Fu movie. Instant fatality. Only it didn’t. Yeah, fatso’s face was a broken, pudgy, bleeding mess, but there was still air coming out of those lips.
"Huh." Harley huffed and cocked her hip to the side, dismayed at a perfectly good punchline gone to waste. "Oh, well." She raised the bat up once more, right as the cop made a wheezing gasp of protest. "If at first you don’t succeed...strike four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…"
Down and down and down Harley brought the bat, pulverizing the cop’s face and splattering blood in all directions. Every strike was more vicious than the last, every blow quicker, until there was nothing left but a pile of broken bone and blood and some gooey grey stuff where his head used to be.
When it was all over, Harley let out a deep sigh and laid the bat to rest on her shoulders, turning back to her crew with a wistful sigh. They all stared at her, and she could tell through their clown masks that a few of them were giving her the stink eye. Didn’t matter. They knew not to mess with Mama when she was getting her beast.
"Anyway, like I was saying." Harley twirled the bat like a baton and strolled back over to them. "Smash and grab’s the plan, boys, plain and simple. Go in and put these shiny new toys to good use. Anything moves, you kill it. Anything that doesn’t move, blow it up. We go in, I get the goods, we head out and catch some pizza on the way home. Sound good?"
One of Harley’s thugs spoke up, a new guy they’d brought in just before the Joker took his yearly vacation to heaven. "What if one of the bat’s bitches shows up?"
Harley canted her head to the side, her pigtails bouncing along, as if he’d just asked the silliest question in history. Which he did. "That’s easy, Mike-"
"My name’s Daryl."
"Mike, if bird boy or bigger bird boy or Catbitch or Batbitch show up, all you gotta do is remember four little letters: WWJD." She tapped his pretty little head with the tip of her bat, getting a few bloody bone fragments on his mask.
"What. Would. Joker. Do?"
What would Batman do?
That was the question Batgirl asked herself as she looked down at GCPD from a nearby building, watching from the edge as the wind and a light rain splattered all around her. Her scanners were active, bringing a low hum from the cowl as she peered through the wall and analyzed everything from the top down.
"Batgirl!" Tim’s voice came through over her communicator, but it was a bit difficult to make him out. He was breathing hard, and there were indistinct shouts all around him. "Alfred told me you were into something at GCPD, what’s-" He was suddenly cut off by a loud - sounded like something large and wooden breaking apart near his head.
"Tim, Tim!" She multitasked, counting down the hostiles. "What’s going on?"
"Two Face is making a run at the Gotham Central Bank." She could hear shots ringing out, shots that sounded like they were whizzing right by Tim’s head. "Trying to stop him, but he’s got a lot of goons this time. What’s going down at GCPD?"
"Trouble." Quick and succinct answer. "Picking up a bunch of thugs with guns way above their paygrade. Officers are holding their own, but-"
"Is your D-" Tim was cut off by a bunch of grunts and curses, following by the sound of his staff connecting on three skulls. "Sorry, ‘bout that. Commissioner Gordon, is he okay?"
"He’s not here." That had been the absolute first thing Barbara checked on when she started scanning the building, making sure her father hadn’t got caught up in this mess. "But they’re spread thin." Her gaze narrowed when she looked lower. "And I’m picking up someone near the vault, separated from the others."
"Probably going for the vault, just-" A rapid burst of gunfire and ricochets rang out over the communicator, and Robin was back to running again. "Just hold on, see if Nightwing, can-"
"Can’t get ahold of him, think he’s busy with Poison Ivy." Batgirl switched off the scanners and stood up straight, already running the possible entrances through her her mind. "Going in."
There was a grunt on the other line, sounded like Tim was choking on something, but it was quickly cut off after a crash. "Don’t-" Tim took a deep inhale. "Don’t be like that. Don’t know what’s going on, going in blind-"
"You and I both know what could happen if they get access to that vault." Batgirl pulled the grappling hook from her belt and took aim, looking to swing in low, make her way to the vault first and put a stop to that fast. The police could hold their own for a few minutes, but if she didn’t get down there soon, this situation would go from bad to inconceivably worse in a hurry. "The fear toxin, the laughing gas, the Freeze Gun…"
"I know, I know. Just…" Tim’s voice lowered, speaking into the communicator with the lowest whisper. "Just be careful, Babs."
And with that said, she was off.
Harley paced back and forth with bouncy impatience as her mook examined the vault door.
Well, perhaps that was selling this one a bit short. But not on the part one would expect. This girl was a mook through and through; the thing was that she was everyone's mook.
Quinn's companion took off her clown mask to better get a look at the finer details, revealing a somewhat rough-around-the-edges girl with a tight ponytail holding her brunette hair out of the way. Pausing briefly to wipe her brow and fish an instrument out of her shoulder bag, she then resumed her prodding and testing.
Jenna Duffy was her name, although while on the clock she was mostly referred to as 'The Carpenter.' She was, technically, one of the most successful ne'er do wells in Gotham. While she would never make the papers for some grand heist or scheme, Jenna was very much behind almost every one in some way or another.
After all, who do you think built all of those deathtraps the heavy hitters were so fond of? You believe that Two Face knows how to rig moving walls? Or that The Riddler would roll up his pristine green sleeves and fight with a repurposed tractor engine for hours to get his giant living chess pieces or whatever the hell he cooked up this week functional? Of course not. That was all Carpenter. She had the know-how and elbow grease, the big names of Gotham's underbelly had the money, and best of all she got to walk away unnoticed with her check while the 'contractor' inevitably got his head caved in by freaks in fursuits.
This particular job was a bit more hands-on than usual, but the pay more than made up for it. Even if clown girl back there reneged on the deal, there were more than enough interesting devices ready to be pocketed right beyond this door to make the risk worthwhile.
"Pretty good choice they made here." Carpenter mused, tracing one work-gloved hand over the cold steel barrier. "Not quite top of the line, but it was about half a year ago. Retina and fingerprint scanners - with pulse sensors on that last one so you can't just cut off what you need - protected hinges, reinforced so heavily that it'd take weeks to break through..."
Carpenter trailed off as she noticed that her current employer had ceased her pacing. She turned just in time to see the tail end of Quinn cutting off making "yak yak" gestures with her free hand, but had enough experience in this line of work to refrain from commenting on that.
"...What I'm getting at here is that my previous estimate was not including complications like this."
"Fine, whatever." Harley agreed dismissively. "Just give me a timeframe. You ain't getting paid to serenade the door."
"This thing is quite a piece of work..." Carpenter replied, "...but the boys in blue who bought it forgot one important thing: Any protection is only as strong as the weakest part. And while they splurged their annual budget on this slab of metal, everything around it is still the old crap that went up before my grandpa was born.
Carpenter dipped once again into her bag for two items:
One: A-full face breathing mask, to work through the inevitable clouds of asbestos
And two: A collapsible, miniature jackhammer.
"Gimme twelve minutes, and I'll give you keys to the city."
Harley turned away from her specialist as she got to work breaking down the surrounding wall, having noticed something. Or a lack of something. The more traditional lackeys she had left behind to hold off interruptions had gone silent. This could mean that they had wrapped up with all the pigs dumb enough to think that the paycheck they were getting was worth having their torso hollowed out like a jack o lantern, but in that case they should have fallen back to her position by now.
So the crew wasn't up and running, but they weren't being swamped by cops. Which likely meant that the donut dunkers had been beaten back and then something else swooped in to return the favor.
With a heavy sigh, Quinn shouldered her bat and went out looking for... well, bats.
The first living thing Harley came across was one of her own: A familiar face lurching forwards with a notable limp. He paused mid-waddle as he noticed that he was no longer alone, clearly trying to figure out if this was in more or less danger now.
"Miiike!" Quinn cajoled, bringing the tip of her bat up against his jaw to raise his drooping head. "What did I tell you? What would Joker do?"
Dar-er-Mike was pretty sure that the accurate answer here would be 'Backhand Quinn and continue running,' but at the same time was pretty sure that being quippy was the best way to get dealt his last punchline.
"He'd... uh... stand and fight?"
"Good boy" Harley cooed, bringing the weapon back to ready it as she scanned around them. "Tell me who popped yer goon cherry. One of the birdbrains? The tramp in purple?"
"Oh come on. Not even Catwoman? I know it's your first big job, bu-"
With a thunk and a twang, Quinn's bat was knocked out of her grasp. It spun a few times in midair before hitting a wall, bouncing back down to rattle against the floor. There it stayed, prevented from rolling any further due to the batarang now protruding from it.
Mike spun in circles as fast as he could with one bum leg, trying to look everywhere at once as he lost what little cool he had left. In contrast, Harley merely crossed her arms petulantly and let out a small harumph.
"If you wanna prove me wrong, Affirmative Bat-Action, just come out and do the job by yourself for once."
If you listened closely enough over the pitter-patter of rain outside, you could almost hear the sound of Batgirl’s eyes rolling. "Coming from Joker’s former arm candy, with her own personal clown posse..."
Batgirl’s voice bounced around the walls, echoed from room to room, masked her position. She followed Batman’s lessons to the letter as she worked her way around the rooms, shifting through the shadows and using the walls for cover. It helped that she’d spent hours on hours in GCPD headquarters growing up - it was like a second home, and almost every room, every nook, every corner was familiar to her. He probably wouldn’t approve of her engaging in trashtalk with Harley - strong, silent type all the way - but in Batgirl’s experience, it could help work the mood. Was certainly doing a number on the goon, whose heartrate was starting to boil over 100 BPM.
"Aw, you mean me and my boys?" Harley Quinn cooed as she took a tepid step towards her bat, eyes shifting with every inch. "Nothing wrong with a few helping hands for the heavy lifting. Girl’s gotta keep her hands clean." She wiggled her fingers, showing her nail polish. Blood red. Of course. "Don’t you worry, I got nooooooo problem getting down and dirty with you, Red."
Though, being honest, Harley would’ve preferred to have a little hardware on her side when she was taking on the martial arts in tech armor with more gadgets in her belt than a Sharper Image catalog. At least her bat, which was just sitting there on the other side of the room, begging to be smashed against some uppity vigilante’s skull. Harley - despite what Mr. J said but didn’t really mean sometimes - wasn’t a complete idiot. She knew a trap when she saw one. She also knew the perfect way to ‘handle’ said trap.
Harley moved back and gave Mike a little shove toward the fallen baseball bat, along with a wide-eyed look that clearly said ‘go get it, dummy’.
Mike looked back, shook his head, with furrowed brows that clearly said ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea’.
Harley pointed at his groin and made a scissoring motion with her fingers. Mike got the point.
He took a few hesitant steps before he just decided to throw caution to the wind and bolted towards the bat, diving for it. To his surprise, nothing happened. Batgirl didn’t bolt out of the shadows and nail him, nothing exploded, he didn’t trip over some hidden wire on the floor. He picked up the bat without a single incident, and started to move back towards Harley, relief filling his features.
He got exactly one step before the batarang lit up with a flash and sent electricity running all the way down to the handle, through his hand, and subsequently through his entire body.
Mike let out a surprisingly high-pitched squeal as the shock made his body jerk and jiggle, and the bat flew from his hands - only to be caught a split-second later by its original owner, as Harley ran to catch it. "Got it!" She gave Mike a quick pat on the head as he withered down to his knees, then turned around just in time to see the heel of Batgirl’s boot coming straight at her face.
Batgirl had taken the momentary pause to work her way out of the office she’d been hiding in and get close to Quinn, staying low and closing the distance with quick strides. A swift roundhouse to the face was a good opener, and more than a little satisfying.
But, surprisingly, it wasn’t all the effective - Harley Quinn staggered back, got knocked against the wall, sure, but she bounced back and came at Batgirl a second later, reeling back with her bat for a strike that was meant to separate heads from shoulders.
Batgirl ducked under the swing, dodging the blow with so little space to spare that she could feel the metal passing through her hair as it followed her downwards. Training took over and Batgirl immediately moved in position behind the Clown Queen of Crime, reaching up and wrapping her arms around her neck from behind. Batgirl would just reach up, pull her in tight for a sleeperhold, then drop her in less than a minute, like Batman would do every single time they fought.
Batman always did warn that Harley was a bit more dangerous than people realized, bringing up the time she came within a hair’s breadth of killing him all on her lonesome. She didn’t have any formal martial arts training that they knew of, but she was agile, surprisingly strong, and could pull out surprises out of her frilly skirt. Like, for instance, a judo throw. Ippon seoi nage, if you wanted to be fancy about it
"Wha-" Batgirl blurted out as Harley grabbed her arm and jerked forward, sending her tumbling head-over-heels. She landed hard on back, smacking on the linoleum floor, and rigorous training was all that saved her life - she had just enough time to roll out of the way before Harley’s bat came crashing down, striking the spot where her head used to be a split-second earlier.
"Aw, something wrong, B-Girl?" Harley moved in for another swing as the vigilante tried to rise up, narrowly missing when the femmebat rolled backwards and docked under desk, coming out on the other side. "Having some trouble without the big, bad Bat looking over the cute little shoulder?"
Harley hopped up on top of the desk, scattering papers and knocking over a coffee mug on the process, casting her shadow over Batgirl below. With a wild squeal of unrestrained glee, she leaped up with the bat raised high above her head, coming down on the young heroine below like an eagle swooping on her prey. That was, until Batgirl raised her feet up at the last moment, letting Harley’s chest crash land on her boots.
"Whoawhoawhoa-" Batgirl pushed up with a sudden jerk of her hips, and now it was Harley’s turn to go ass-over-teakettle. The monkey flip sent her rolling across the floor, out an open door, and into the GCPD’s training room, squawking every bit of the way.
As Mike laid on the floor, twitching and spasming, he seriously started to seriously reconsider his career choices. His last job had been for Mr. Freeze, a cold, heartless maniac. Mike had to spend annoying about of times in his freezing cold hideout, taking care of menial chores like maintaining his suit, and he’d ended up getting kicked in the face by Nightwing for all his troubles. And he didn’t even get much money, to top it all off.
But, you know what? Mr. Freeze never threatened to cut his balls off.
He was just starting sit back up when the woman who’d done the threatening came tumbling past him, nearly clipping him in the head with her baseball bat as she flopped.
"Boss, what-" He’d barely had time to register when Batgirl ran after Harley and gave him a swift kick in the face, knocking him flat on his back and leaving him with a sore jaw and stars in his eyes.
"Stay down." Batgirl ran after Harley, leaving Mike to contemplate his role in life.
Now if one were to plug the phrase 'Police Station Training Room' into any search engine worth a damn, the results it spat out would be rather mundane. Rows of chairs facing a desk or podium. Basically a classroom, or a lecture hall.
This terminology was not applicable to a police force which cooperated with urban legends to take down mad scientists, ancient warrior-sorcerers, zombies, mutants, and an occasional god or two.
For the GCPD, 'training room' essentially meant 'firing range'.
Harley rolled to a stop on her back, the world upside-down to her as she tried to regain her bearings. At first she thought that she had somehow been concussed on the way over based on what lay out ahead of her; but soon she came to realize that all of it was real, and a little whitefaced hamster in her head started running on it's wheel.
A grin almost as wide as the one already painted on spreading across her face, Quinn kicked herself up and dashed towards her new toys.
Oh. Great. This place.
Barbara essentially lived in this police department like it was a second home, but that did not necessarily mean that she knew every last inch of it. Just like how a homeowner could live all his life not knowing how the boiler to his house worked, there were some parts of the building she was not terribly acquainted with.
Her fathers - both the very real and metaphorical - were not exactly chomping at the bit to teach her the virtues of picking up a gun and aiming for center mass. Thus while she knew of this little training area, she didn't really know it.
Which was a shame, since it actually looked kind of fun.
Past a rack of earmuffs and a countertop was a corridor mocked up like an abandoned alleyway; about as close to the real deal as a carny shooting gallery, but holding the same sort of cruddy charm because of that. Even from here she could make out little cubbyholes on either side of this diorama at regular intervals, obviously to hide targets until they popped out into sight. The idea was simple: Both 'friendly' and 'unfriendly' targets appear with little warning, take down the dangerous one while leaving the harmless alone.
The irony was not lost on her.
Unless Harley had found a way to phase through walls, she had run back into that diorama and now hid in one of the side rooms. No doubt waiting for her.
Barbara mentally braced herself, then slid over the dividing countertop and started the most high-stakes training round the department had ever seen.
Both of Batgirl's hands were occupied as she crept forward: One holding a shock batarang in preparation for Harley's inevitable attack, and the other at her temple cycling through scanning modes for any possible leg-up on the situation. Most of the readouts were unusually useless, reading outlines of multiple silhouettes when she was sure there was only-
With a giggle a feminine body shot out of a patch of shadow, her sloppily painted face accentuating her obvious bloodthirsty glee. Without even thinking about it Batgirl's reflexes sprang into action, and she expertly flung the batarang directly into the torso of her attacker.
Briefly covered in light and sparks as the charge flowed through her, Quinn's laugh wound down and she... remained hanging in mid-leap.
Batgirl had indeed tazed Harley Quinn. The Harley Quinn dummy; one of several mockups used to familiarize new recruits with the more unusual perps of Gotham.
The real dummy was several cubbyholes back, and Batgirl barely had enough time to parse her error before the clown girl had taken the opportunity to leap from her spot and double Barbara over with a bat to the gut.
"All that tech, and this throws you off?" Harley jeered, raising her bat above her head. "Cash weeell spent."
Despite the insult hitting home in some ways, Batgirl's suit was paying off here. Primarily, the armor had absorbed most of the otherwise ribcage-cracking force of that last blow. But both of the women knew that was only a setup shot; the actual coup de gras was the one which was going to follow next, coming down on the back of her neck like an executioner's axe. Barbara couldn't let that land, or it was all over.
With no time to come up with anything better Batgirl lunged in Harley's direction, utilizing her already hunched over form for something roughly equivalent to a football tackle. For now luck was on her side, and the two tumbled down in a tangle of limbs and fists.
Both went for the bat, knowing that it would be a deciding factor in the next few moments. And, in their unrelenting determination, neither was able to completely wrest it from the other. But Batgirl was on the top, Harley was on the bottom, and gravity can be a pretty good tiebreaker.
Harley still had a hold of her weapon... kind of. With all of her strength, she was pushing up on the bat to stop it from further cutting off her windpipe. Above her was Barbara, using her hold to push down for the exact opposite reason.
They were currently at a stalemate, but there was only one way this could go. Given equal levels of strength, bet on the heavily armored one on top.
Carpenter was usually not the type to get silly on the job, but destruction work has a way to bring it out of a person. Especially when said work leads to several tons of metal hitting the ground all at once.
The blue-collar criminal was sure to stand well away from the drop zone, knowing full well how boned anything underneath this thing's shadow would be. But even then, the sheer force of the drop still gave her a bit of a start. She could feel the WHUMP-CLANG of the huge slab slamming against the floor in her teeth, let alone hear the deafening sound itself. So much for anything approaching subtlety. Even with the shootout. At least gunfire faded after, like, a block or so.
Batgirl was sure that, given just a few more seconds, she could lock in this 'hold' on the already sputtering and gasping girl beneath her. Then it would just be a matter of time until the struggles wound down and she'd be able to cuff Quinn in peace. However, she was not counting on the world to rumble for a moment as if God had just reached down and punched it. She jumped slightly in shock, and that one moment of lost balance was all that Harley needed.
Mustering all the energy into one attack, Quinn brought up a leg for a kick into Batgirl's crotch.
Now as previously stated, the shock absorbing qualities of her suit avoided most of the agony she would normally have, but that did not change the fact that enough force was behind that blow to send the already unbalanced cape tumbling off her opponent. And, now free, Harley quickly rolled to her knees and rose to her feet.
"Sorry for leavin' ya high and dry kid..." Quinn half-croaked, massaging her throat, "...but that's my cue. Toodles!"
With that she was off, leaving Batgirl sprawled out holding a matching baseball bat. The putz could have it. She was going to have quite a set of replacements very soon.
Mike had turned to face the source of all the racket that just went down, but that was relatively short-lived. After all, when the boss rounds a corner clearly running for her life it's best to pay attention.
"What's going-" Mike started, but only got that far before Harley was past and leaving.
"Watch yer back!" Harley's voice called out as it faded along with her, but a set of knees came up against the henchman's before he could even think of doing anything with it.
Down and on his stomach Mike went, groaning as the wind was forced out of him by the armored woman now kneeling on his spine. His new chiropractor paused only to say "I told you to stay down" before she also was off, using his back as a springboard to build up momentum.
Everyone was a comedian today. And he, apparently, was Rodney Dangerfield.
Carpenter first saw Harley as she skidded into view, and began to wave her down.
That quickly ground to a halt, though, as a blur of black cape and armor appeared dangerously close behind her.
Carpenter was not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination. But it had come down to this. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Just her, her walking paycheck, and a Bat.
Oh, and also the most expensive and varied armory money could ever buy.
Stepping back, Carpenter disappeared into the vault. She would have only a precious few seconds before everything hit the fan, and the best use that time would be selecting a proper umbrella.
Batgirl was hot on Harley Quinn’s heels, even closing in, but she lost focus for a moment when she saw someone else darting into the vault - and then didn’t see them anymore. Someone else in Harley’s crew, another woman from the looks of it. Batgirl couldn’t be sure, though, because her incredibly convenient scanners couldn’t get through the vault’s interior
In fact, nothing could, and that was by design. After Firefly remotely detonated his equipment after it had been logged and nearly burnt down GCPD headquarters, tax dollars went into making the vault sealed in every conceivable way. Nothing inside could get out, and that included radio signals. So once Batgirl stepped through that door, she’d be effectively cut off from the world. Her and Harley and their unknown third party.
Barbara asked herself what Batman would do in this situation, but the answer wasn’t very helpful: Batman wouldn’t have let it get this far. This was Harley Quinn, for God’s sakes.
With a determined grunt and narrowed eyes, she followed Quinn into the shadowy vault, leaping over the fallen door and barreling in through the smoke.
The room didn’t stay darkened for long, however, as the Carpenter opened fire on the first non-Harley Quinn thing to enter the room. Not with a machine gun or something like that - not exactly. No, when Carpenter went looking for an umbrella, she selected a real one. Namely, one that formerly belonged to the Penguin.
At least, she assumed it formerly belonged to the Penguin. She couldn’t imagine anyone else walking around with an umbrella that shot laser beams from the tip.
The red ray shot out with a quick twist of the handle, and it nearly hit Batgirl the second she stuck her cowl out. Nearly, because the stupid thing had a surprising kick to it, which pushed Carpenter back the moment she let loose with it, making her miss the target and hit a bunch of things she didn’t want to hit - like, say, her meal ticket.
"GOD DANG IT!" Harley Quinn ducked and shrieked as a laser beam - something right out of a sci-fi flick - zoomed right over her head, threatening to blast a hole straight through. "Watch your frickin’ aim! Can’t pay you if I’m dead, remember?!"
Harley leaped over a crate and took cover behind it, dropping to her butt as the laser flashed by, then abruptly cut off. She’d been thinking that getting Batgirl in here would swing things around to her favor. Now? Not so sure, but she was gonna run with it.
So. She was in, now, and she could trade her baseball bat in for something a bit more creative. Where to start, where to start….
This was crazy.
Even by Harley Quinn’s notorious standards, this was crazy.
Batgirl retreated behind the display with the latest version Scarface dummy, taking a moment to breathe while she considered her options. Quinn was the main priority, but taking her down would be harder while she worried about a third party screwing up things even more than they were destined to be screwed up. It was iffy, but she was relatively certain that the best course of action was to take down the hired help before she focused her attention on the boss.
She’d just have to be quick about it. Very quick.
Batgirl peeked around the corner just in time to see the new girl making a break for it, dashing away from her and making a go for another crate. She’d just started to open the lid when her efforts were brought to a screeching halt - after all, it was a bit hard to open anything when you arms were getting wrapped up in a grappling hook.
The line circled around her and wrapped her up tight. Carpenter struggled, Carpenter fought, but it wasn’t enough to keep from being tugged down on her back and dragged across the floor.
"Of all the people you could’ve worked for, Jenna." Batgirl spoke through grunts as she reeled her prey in for the last few feet. "Harley Quinn? Really? Was the Cluemaster not available?"
Batgirl raised her foot up high, looking to bring her heel down on Jenna’s face and knock her out, clean and fast. A flash of movement caught the corner of her eye, though, and she ducked just in time to avoid-
"Catwoman’s whip?! Really?" Batgirl exclaimed, leaping over Jenna as Harley Quinn advanced on her, swinging away like a person who’d never used a real bullwhip in her entire life - which, ironically, made her more dangerous with the thing. The whip cracked all around as Harley Quinn lashed out, nailing just about everything around - except Batgirl.
"Watch it!" Jenna yelped as one of the blows landed dangerously near her head, but Harley either didn’t care or didn’t notice - or both. Her eyes were focused forward, trying to strike the rapidly retreating Batgirl in front of her.
"Come on, stand still!" Another swing, another miss. "Might like it!" Another swing, another miss. "You know B-Man does!" Another swing, another miss.
This time, Batgirl grabbed the whip before Harley could pull it back; wrapping it around her fist and pulling hard. The two of them had a brief tug-of-war, back and forth, before Batgirl put a stop to it by just charging forward and throwing a quick roundhouse kick to Harley’s face.
The Clown Princess fell flat on her back, and Batgirl was over her only a scant second later, standing tall and proud. She caught her breath as she looked down at Harley, fist raised, ready for her to try anything. "It’s over." She started to reach into her utility belt, going for the handcuffs. "No more games. No more toys."
As sure as Batgirl was, she had a short pang of doubt when she saw that insidious little smirk crossing Harley’s lips. She didn’t know why it was there, but she was smart enough to realize that it could only mean bad things. "Just one."
Jenna was confused.
She’d been getting herself untied, and was just about finished, figuring she could either help Harley out or just call her losses and make a break for it. Given how quickly this whole thing was going tits up, she was leaning more towards the latter options, hoping she could scurry out while Batgirl was busy subduing Harley.
But then Batgirl stopped. Completely stopped. Completely. Not only was she not moving, but nothing on her was moving. Not her hair. No blinking. Even her cape was suspended in the air, seemingly unaffected by the faint draft moving through the room. She was frozen. Just. Frozen.
"Gah, finally!" Harley squeezed out from under Batgirl’s legs and popped to her feet, promptly dusting herself off like this was most natural thing in the world. She hummed a little ditty under her breath - ‘Time Is On My Side’, Jenna was pretty sure - and went about checking her nails. Just going along like everything was cool.
"Uh, Harley?" Jenna leaned her way and snapped her fingers a few times, trying to bring her meal ticket back to reality. "Explain? Please?" She gestured to the living statue that was now Batgirl.
Harley Quinn was incredibly pleased with herself.
Oh, this whole thing had gotten a little rough to start off with. Didn’t really expect one of the Batbrats to show up. But she’d adapted. She’d held her ground. And now she had something Joker always wanted - her own little B-Girl doll to play with. Mr. J would be so proud, she just knew it.
She was so wrapped up in the moment that she didn’t even hear Jenna until the third snap. "Oh!" She perked up and swung around to face her cohort. "Right. Just a little tchotchke I nabbed while B-Girl was busy ringing your bell." She pointed at Batgirl’s ankle. "Check it."
Attached to Batgirl’s ankle was a device. Small. Just a bit bigger than the palm of a hand. A rectangular box of metal with round ends and a flashing light in the middle. "And that is…"
"One of Clockmaster’s timey-wimey doohickeys."
"Clockmaster?" Jenna’s brow shot straight up. "You mean ‘Clock King’?"
"King, Lord, Queen, Prince, whatever." She strutted around Batgirl’s body, taking in the view. Great ass. Loved the hair. "Point is, Iast time I took a seista in Arkham, he was blabbering on and on and on about this big plan of his B-Man messed up, and he mentioned this nifty thing, here. Speeds up time or slows it down to a nice...long...crawl." She pointed to Batgirl and took a bow. "Ta-da."
"Wow, that’s…" Carpenter blinked a few times, surprised by Harley’s forethought. "...impressive."
"Yup." Harley took a step back and admired her work. It was slight, ever so slight, but if you looked close, you could see the slow spread of terror on Batgirl’s face, as the world move around her at speeds she could never hope to catch up with. "Now comes the fun part."
It took most of Mike's internal fortitude to stop himself from just turning around and limping his bruised ass out of the building. Almost any way he sliced it, this just didn't seem worth the trouble. In the end it was the fact that the job was so bad which kept him on track; Joker's crew had notoriously bad survival rates even among the already terrible odds, which meant that anyone who lasted a gig or two had essentially earned the equivalent of a purple heart amongst his peers. Toughing it out here could very well set him up for some far cushier gigs later. Maybe something with the Riddler. The worst he did was bruise your ego.
Preparing for the worst, the hapless grunt entered the vault. And, for once, his cynicism was not immediately vindicated.
Quinn and that specialist girl were examining a Batgirl that, while seemingly untouched, had obviously something done to her. He had never seen someone frozen so perfectly. Even including that 'Nora' popsicle.
"Wha..." he muttered idly. This was apparently enough to clue Quinn in on his presence, who spun around to face him with a cheerful clap of the hands.
"Mikey! Just the guy I need! Could you dip back into the offices out there and scrounge me up a camera?"
"Sure thing" Mike said with a shrug, somewhat happy for a reason to get away from ground zero. On his way out, though, a thought came to him, and he ducked his head back in for a quick clarification.
"You want a picture camera, or a video camera?"
Harley took a moment to weigh her options, idly tapping one cheek while doing so, before replying.
"First one, then th’ other."
"So..." Harley cooed, turning back to her other minion of the day and rubbing her hands. "...I got a new job for ya, girl. This bat's gotta shed some a' that suit if she's gonna model for us."
Carpenter glanced over at their transfixed captive, then back at her employer, clearly not amused.
"I was brought on board to open doors, boss. There are reasons why I stopped returning Hatter's calls."
The clown girl chuckled at the response, fully expecting something of the sort. Carpenter was many things, but this was not one of them. Luckily for Quinn, though, there was a blindingly obvious bargaining chip right in front of them.
Harley breezily sashayed up to the frozen bat and wrapped her arms around the girl, her hands drooping down to her waist. For a moment Carpenter wondered if she should just leave now and text over a bill later, but then a click went off and Quinn drew back holding her new prize: The fabled utility belt.
"Here" Harley said, the belt clattering as it was tossed at Carpenter's feet. "All yours, including all the gizmos inside. Would that cover the hassle?"
Jenna thought it over for a second. But only a second.
"...So what goes first? Mask?"
Harley at first replied with only a chiding wag of the finger.
"Now now, girl, haven't you ever heard of foreplay? 'sides, we'll need to prove that this is Batgirl in the shots. Let's instead get off that chestpiece... and maybe a bit off the back here..."
From Batgirl's point of view, everything was a blur. The sights, sounds, and sensations were all melded together, creating a veritable assault of chaos against all her senses that reached a fever pitch and finished before she could even parse most of what was going on.
But even with the lightning speed of the world, her mind still managed to register her suit falling off in clumps.
Pretty ingenious setup, really.
Apparently the Roman-Gladiator-ish muscle design of these outfits was not entirely for show. By segmenting the heavy duty plating like that and holding it all together with ballistic protection material underneath, they could offer optimal armoring while still allowing full range of movement. For every creasing point, an opening to prevent possible grinding.
And for every joint, a crack to work a prybar under.
It was not terribly fast going, with Carpenter working the tool in then applying force with taps from a small rubber mallet, but they almost literally had all the time in the world. Gradually pieces popped off, with the inner material they were fastened to following soon after a few good tugs. The handiwoman went after every plate Harley pointed to with gusto, focused more on the individual jobs than the whole picture. Only after all the work was done, and she stepped back to wipe her brow, did Jenna fully realize what she'd done.
Batgirl was still clothed. Technically. In truth, she was wearing armored arm gloves and thigh highs. Her mask-helmet still remained - alongside juuust enough around her neck to keep both her cape and the bat emblem plate on her chest secured - but besides that only her plain white panties and bra remained.
"That's dissapointin'." Harley grumbled at her side. "They aren't even black. Oh well..."
Without so much as a pause the Clown Princess of Crime dipped a hand into her own cleavage, fishing out a small locket filled with various hues of makeup. It was useful for whenever her face needed touching up on the go, but that did not mean that was the only thing worth painting.
"More blank canvas for me."
It had taken him a bit longer than he expected, but viola! There was a photography camera in the mugshot station, a camcorder in the interrogation rooms, and enough space on both of them to make their own album and film respectively. He wasn't exactly sure what the point was, but at least he held up his end of...
Mike stopped in his tracks as he re-entered the vault, almost dropping his cargo in disbelief.
Off to the side was the specialist, ruffling through storage crates and dumping various items of interest into her carrying bag. She was obviously trying to ignore everything else in the room as hard as possible, which was... understandable.
Leaning over to get a better angle at her 'canvas,' Harley Quinn was humming a merry tune to herself as she worked with her makeup brushes.
And Batgirl was... oh boy.
Batgirl's face was slathered with white, including the mask that went over it. Harley had apparently given her black eyeliner and bright red lipstick too, just to messily smear them against the ivory landscape behind them. But all that was pretty much a given. The real show was further down.
The bat had been stripped at some point, and her boss was taking full advantage of that. The woman's previously pristine undergarments were now covered with a pattern of crude bat logos. Speaking of which, it seemed that Batgirl's bra was pushed down at some point only to be set back into place afterwards. At least, that was the story the two yellow smiley faces peeking over the lingerie got across to him. Further down handprints 'clutched' against her hips, and a small pink heart enclosed her navel. Finally several arrows pointed down to Batgirl's crotch; all originating from the phrase "BATCAVE" emblazoned slightly above.
The mook, dumbstruck, had no idea how to even begin to react to this. It was thus fortunate in a way that Harley soon noticed his presence on her own.
"Yer back!" she shouted, folding up her locket and dropping it back where it belonged. "Just in time for a photoshoot!"
Alright. Now Barbara felt wet. And lights were going off everywhere.
Was any of this ever going to start making sense?
"Get my good side."
"The other side, dummy."
"One more for luck!"
Mike continued taking pictures, confused in so many different ways. Should he feel better or worse doing this? I mean, he was supposed to brain capes with a length of pipe or something if given the chance, so maybe this was a step up?
Ah, whatever. He wasn't getting paid enough to philosophize.
Harley was busy shifting the helpless bat from pinup pose to pinup pose, adding in herself to each shot for 'wider appeal.' Batgirl bending over seductively, with Quinn clutching her breasts from behind. Batgirl on her knees with her mouth open and hands cupped below her jaw, with one of Quinn's arms wrapped loosely around her neck while the other patted the top of her head. A side-shot of Batgirl and Quinn leaning into each other; fingers entwining with their chests mashed together and cheeks touching as they turned to look at the photographer. Mike was not sure what struck him more: The sheer encyclopedic knowledge of these poses his boss seemed to have, or how many of them he actually recognized from magazines he had stashed under his bed as a kid.
"Alright, circle around! You're gonna want a wide shot of this one."
Mike did what he was told, while Harley brought down the good-as-comatose bat onto her hands and knees. He was surprised to note that Batgirl's rear now had sloppy bullseyes painted onto each cheek, but at this point was not sure why he didn’t expect that.
With a small grunt of satisfaction Quinn sat down on Batgirl's back, then crossed her legs and rested a palm on her painted backside.
"Does that thing have a rapid-fire mode? You wouldn't believe what this looks like at just the right moments."
With that said, she raised her hand and struck her captive's ass with a meaty SMACK
To explain what happened next, one has to delve into the school of physics.
Don't worry. There will be not be any quizzes later.
E = mc^2
Partially translated from Nerd: Mass increases with speed.
The device Clock King pilfered from the scientist he was working for creates pockets of distorted time, which plays havoc on relative speed of objects. And thus mass. If an object traveling at a ludicrous speed hits an object acting normally, or an object trapped in an absurdly slow timeframe is hit by an object acting normally, they could theoretically trigger an atomic explosion.
Before anyone asks: Yes, this means that Harley could have leveled all of Gotham with Barbara's asscheeks.
Luckily for them (and everyone else within city limits) the scientist who built this device foresaw this issue and built in a failsafe: Whenever an object affected by it receives a large enough surge of kinetic force, it will automatically disable itself to allow the shock to happen naturally.
So no, the errant spank did not turn them all into shadows burnt into the ground.
It did however disable the time field, freeing Barbara to fully realize what was going on.
As well as react appropriately, of course.
Harley, despite what 99% of the world thought, was not an idiot. She had been a gifted psychiatrist before she met the Joker, and it wasn't as if she'd simply forgotten all of that after her career path took a unique turn. Doctorate’s weren’t easy to come by.
That being said, proficiency in psychology did nothing for proficiency in nuclear physics. So she had no real idea exactly how Clock King’s thingie worked, or how it involved nuclear physics, or, well...any of it. So she had no idea why, when she spanked Batgirl’s pert little ass, it switched off and returned Batgirl to a normal timeframe. And frankly, she didn’t care, because it meant she got to hear something she’d been missing in all of this revelry: Batgirl’s screams.
Oh, did Batgirl scream.
The blazing pain on her ass was only a small part of the reason. That hurt. That hurt a lot, actually, enough to make Batgirl suspect Harley had gotten serious experience dealing that sort of blow at some point.
But what was really freaking Batgirl out was the culmination of everything that had happened to her in the past five seconds. Five seconds in her frame of reference.
She’d been whipped around, posed, manipulated, stripped, flashes had gone off all around her, and she had absolutely no idea why or how any of it was happening, and worse, if it would ever stop. Her brain was suffering from sensory overload, taking in far too much to process at once. The human mind was simply not designed to process information like this, and the result left her on the floor, screaming and kicking and bucking and desperately trying to cover up her exposed body as her brain tried - and failed - to figure out just what the hell was going on.
And her utility belt was missing.
"Oh, God…" Batgirl remembered her lessons and took deep breaths, trying to slow her heart down before she had a panic attack and made this situation even worse than it already was. She tried to lift her head and look over her shoulder, get some better idea of what was going, but Harley put a stop that when she jumped to her feet and planted her high heel right on Batgirl’s check, grinding her face into the floor. From her position, all Batgirl could see was Jenna walking out through the vault door, carrying a bag of goodies that likely included her missing utility belt.
"Stop-" Batgirl reached out for Jenna, but her pleas were cut short when Harley raised her boot and stomped her skull into the floor once more. The cowl was a solid work, titanium casing with a cushioned interior to reduce impacts, but only reduce. It couldn’t negate them entirely. Not at this range. Not like this.
The stomp rattled Batgirl’s brain and left her shaking on the floor, eyes shut tight as she processed the pain.
"Sorry, B-Girl." Harley gave Jenna a quick wave as she skipped out of the vault, wiping her hands of whatever R-Rated madness was about to go down. "She’s calling it a night, so it’s gonna be just you and me from now on." She let up on pressure, lifted her foot up, but only so she could give Batgirl a quick kick in the back of her head, keeping her senses rattled. Couldn’t be too careful with these kung-fu fighting types. "Don’t you worry, though. I got enough party favors in her to keep things going." Harley Quinn took a slow walk around Batgirl’s writhing body, taking particular note of certain juicy looking parts. "Ooooooooh yeah. You and me are gonna have a good ol’ time..."
"Um. Wait." Mike had been busy going through the photos, contemplating all the niche sites he could see them to and wrack up a fortune, when Harley’s words brought him back into reality. "It’s not just you two, I’m…" He pointed at his chest. "Me. I’m still here, remember? Forget about me?"
Harley just turned to Mike and rolled her eyes with a happy little giggle, as she skipped back over to Catwoman’s whip and picked it up. "Course not, Snookums. Need you back behind the fourth wall, is all."
Harley gave the whip a practice swing, letting it crack on the floor just as Batgirl was making another attempt to stand, pushing up to her hands and knees. Her mind was still trying to process what was going on, but she was lucid enough to come to a stark realization: the next few minutes were going to be extremely painful.
Harley smile grew a little wider at the sight, and she exchanged a quick glance with her soon-to-be employee of the month.
"Start filmin’, Mikey."
The only warning Batgirl received was the faint whistle as the whip slashed through the air. Then it came down around her thighs, lashed around the soft meat, and a piercing crack rang through the air as both the speed barrier and her skin were broken.
Batgirl’s tortured yawp filled the stale air as she rolled over to her side and rubbed the spot where the whip hit, hissing at the angry red streak. It didn't matter that Harley lacked Selina’s experience with the whip - in fact, that was the worst part. Someone with experience would make sure the whip didn't wrap against her skin, would've made sure to maximum the pain and minimize the damage. Harley had no such qualms, and plenty of annoying taunts to go along with it.
"Okay, B-Girl, here's your motivation."
Harley Quinn stalked around Batgirl, keeping her at whipping range the whole time and making sure Mike got them in the best frame. This was going up on all the major outlets, after all - Gotham Live, MSNBC, YouTube, an unedited version on Pornhub. Had to make sure they did it right.
"You're the lamest Bat-Spinoff in Gotham, you’re alone, you're trapped, nowhere to run!"
Batgirl had just begun to sit up when the whip came down across her chest, leaving another hot mark all my her chest and knocking her back down. She jerked about on the dusty floor and rolled over, clutching her blazing breasts while she tried to crawl away.
"No one’s coming to save ya." She twirled the whip around a few times over, just for effect. "Not B-Man, not Birdboy, not Catskank. Nobody."
There was another lash, this time right down the center of Batgirl’s bared spine. The heroine arched her back as a shriek tore its way through her lungs, then fell flat on her stomach with her fine little ass sticking up in the air. Mike was sure to get a close up of that. Harley would want him to, he reckoned.
"No weapons, no help, no nothing." Batgirl made a break for the vault exit, scampering towards it, but Harley shut that down with a harsh lashing from whip, aiming at the bullseyes on Batgirl’s backside. She missed and hit her lower back instead, but it worked well enough - down she went, flat on her chest, hissing and groaning and making all sorts of lovely little noises. Perfect set up for what Harley had in mind next.
She threw away all pretenses and went wild with whip, letting herself get caught up in the moment. Harley could see why Selina liked using the thing so much - there was a wild, vicious nature to it that you just couldn’t get with a baseball bat or a mallet. Stinging. Biting. Slicing at the flesh. Tearing into her bit by bit.
Batgirl raised her hands, trying to fend off the blows, but Harley just brought the whip down on her wrists, getting two in one shot.
She tried to roll up into a fetal position, but that just made her back an easier target. A few lashes down her spine got her moving.
She started to get some fire back in those eyes, looking up at Harley with pure defiance as she began to rise, but that rebellion was snuffed out when the whip slashed her across the face, landing right on her chin and spinning her around.
Batgirl fell to the floor, blood dripping all over her body. How many marks did she have? A dozen? More? Enough that she couldn’t tell at the moment, so it had to be high. There wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t have those stinging pangs, flaring up every time she moved and her skin shifted.
But she wouldn’t stay down. She couldn’t. That wasn’t what they did. That wasn’t what Bruce trained her to do.
Batgirl summoned her fire and began to feebly stand, when Harley came in from behind and shoved her back down with a push of her boot, forcing the heroine to her hands and knees and reigniting the fiery wounds trailing down her back.
Harley Quinn strolled around the seething Batgirl and idly tossed the whip away. It was a lot of fun, but there were so many nicer toys to play with, and she wanted to work her way up. That was how good movies worked, right? Couldn’t blow her wad in the first act.
"Hey, not so fast, Red." She chirped, sweet as candy, and leaned forward, her face looming near. "Kind of like you on all fours, good look. In fact…" Her eyes widened, and you could almost see the lightbulb going off in her head. "B-Man’s pushing daisies, right? So maybe I’ll take you home, clean you up real good, and you can be my Batbitch." She straightened up and clapped her hands, applauding her own idea. "Whatdayasay? Like that? Betcha I brood way less than B-Man does, got that going for me."
"I say…" Batgirl took a slight pause to whip the stream of blood on her cheek away, then looked Harley Quinn’s way with a searing glare. "I say you’re crazy and stupid." Batgirl winced and once again tried her hand at standing back up. It was slow going, but there was no way she was escaping this situation if she couldn’t get off the floor. "Not your pet, Quinn."
"Not yet you’re not." Harley patted Batgirl on the head - hard, punch level pats that smacked face against the floor and brought her back down to the dirt. Satisfied with the progress so far, she skipped away and leisurely heading towards the crates. There were still more goodies to be used, and with Gotham’s Finest so busy on this wonderful night, they’d have plenty of time to try a few out.
"Got to break ya in a little, first. That’s all." Harley opened another crate and bent over while she fished through, shaking her assets for the camera. Little extra T&A wouldn’t hurt. "Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, B-Girl. You’ll see the light."
As Batgirl heaved and huffed, she looked towards Mike, trying to she could appeal to his humanity, get him to help her shut this down before Harley Quinn went as far as she was likely planning.
It didn’t work. All he did was pull the camera in for a close-up of her bloody face. "Stay down."
Carpenter looked back at the police department, her mind full of doubt.
Was she doing the... Well no, even with the most forgiving of perspectives what she did was never the right thing. But was this an acceptable thing?
She worked for criminals, but that did not mean that she was inherently cruel. Just... callused. She had never killed anyone herself, despite creating countless deathtraps for maniacs with both the capability and sadism to use them. And while roughly 85% of her works were built specifically to gruesomely end some member of the bat family, she didn't really have any grudges against 'em. Hell, she even did work for them every now and again.
Plus, her stuff never actually succeeded against those freaks. Despite all of her technological know-how, the capes always managed to escape those nefarious devices at the last second.
But what she just left Batgirl in was not one of her traps. She had helped set it up, but there was no plug to pull or emergency hatch to open. Just the girl naked and defenseless, a psychotic murderer, and enough weaponry to overthrow a third world country.
She could get a word out. An anonymous tip along the right lines, bring another hero in to save the day as they always did.
But that was the thing. They always did that. So why would she put her own neck out for something all-but guaranteed anyway?
Batgirl would be okay. They always were.
The decision having been made, Carpenter turned away from the building and left for home. Doubt still sat at the back of her mind, eating away at her confidence, but for now it was mostly contained.
It would not be set loose fully until she found enough time to sit down and go through her workbag. She was so focused on all the gadgets she put in that she did not actually keep track of what tools were taken out.
"Ah..." Harley sighed as she rooted through a crate. "Where do they get all these wonderful toy... why he-llo..."
After a moment of fidgeting Quinn drew back, her hands now covered with a peculiar set of gloves. The reason that they were stashed in here of all places was made readily apparent as Harley rubbed her hands together in anticipation, and brilliant dots of electricity flew every which way as they came in contact with each other.
"Found the sparklers!"
Mike had seen many, many things in his career as a mook. In some ways, that could be a problem instead of a boon. It was a little bit of both in this case, as his boss pirouetted around to reveal that she was now wearing The Electrocutioner's gloves.
"Boss..." Mike managed to get out, his voice suddenly sporting a quiver.
"Later, Mike." Harley responded offhandedly, too busy advancing on the cowering Bat.
"Not now. Coochie cooch-"
Quinn finally turned around, still in the middle in a pantomime of groping as lightning danced across her waggling fingers. "What is it?"
"One glove hurts. Both gloves kill."
Harley lowered her hands and examined her now luminescent palms, mulling it over. "Are you sure about this?"
"Completely" Mike replied almost before the question even ended. "I was in a gang that guy went after once. I got only one. A couple of buds... well..."
Quinn thought about it for a moment, before peeling off one of the gauntlets and tossing it aside. "Nice catch there, Mikey. You'll get a bonus later for that."
"My name i..." 'Mike' started, before he realized that he was still holding an active camcorder hard at work filming what could very well wind up being the most infamous footage in history.
"...iiiis totally Mike. Mike - uh - Costanza."
Barbara no longer had any idea what Batman would do in a situation like this. The question itself seemed laughable at this stage. 'What would Batman do if he was stripped naked by a glorified roadie girl and told that he'd be turned into a pet’? Was that the setup to a sketch act on some terrible sitcom?
But still, despite the ludicrous specifics, Batgirl could latch onto some neigh universal truths. Struggle. Adapt. Survive.
It is thus how she found herself where she was now: Elbow deep in a crate of villainous loot while her tormentors were busy arguing with each other.
True, she had no idea what she was actually rummaging through. She was still in no shape at all to rise fully to her feet - and had enough trouble with moving the lid as it was - meaning that she merely lay against the side of the container while one arm blindly explored its contents. Her eventual choice was going to be an educated guess at best, but given where she was nearly any option was something she could work with.
Ah! There! Something with a handle and a trigger. Perfect to nail Chuckles over there before she had time to move in for her next bout of torture. Just in time too; they had apparently resolved whatever the debate was about, and had begun to return their attention back.
Barbara pulled out her mystery weapon and fired; hoping for something along the lines of a Mr. Freeze pistol or Killer Moth's cocoon gun...
...and got the Condiment King's glorified sauce dispenser.
Harley tensed up as Batgirl pulled a ‘gun’ on her and fired, but relaxed again as she realized what exactly it was. Or rather, what it was shooting. Mayonnaise coated the front of the slightly amused villainess in ropy streams, dripping down her face and rolling over her chest onto her corset.
Quinn gently jabbed Mike with an elbow.
"Didn't even need ya for that."
Barbara threw the useless 'weapon' away and went once more for the crate, desperately hoping to get something better for take 2. But Harley was ready for more fun, as well as to let Batgirl know what a terrible idea turning a back on her was.
Lowering herself to her knees to match her panicking toy, Harley snaked a hand around her to gently grasp one of her heaving breasts.
'Gentle' as in 'not tightly.' The electricity coursing through her fingers - and now through the girl's chest, were a completely different story.
Barbara's back arched and her body jerked randomly as muscles spasmed completely independently of each other. It felt as if she was having a heart attack -- and with so much juice being pumped straight into her chest, it seemed very likely that she was. Her mouth flapped open and closed but no sound came out; despite her efforts to scream, her neurons were simply too overloaded to get the message through.
For what seemed like forever Barbara writhed in silent agony, foaming at the mouth and shuddering as her body was ravaged by the current. But eventually Harley's gloved hand pulled away, and Batgirl was allowed to collapse into a steaming, shuddering slump.
"Aww.." Quinn cooed. "A little fondling too much for ya, lightweght?"
Barbara forced her eyes to focus once more as she heard a peculiar noise in front of her. Turned out that Harley had not fully drawn back her gloved hand, merely broken skin contact. And now her fingers tapped against each other in anticipation - making pops and shooting off sparks while they did so, as the hand travelled further down to... to...
"Let's just skip the foreplay then."
"No no no NOAAAAAH!" Batgirl cried, right as the electrified hand dipped down between her legs.
Mike zoomed in on the scene, but kept his distance. There was no way that he'd let this camcorder short out now.
Batgirl thought the first time around that she wouldn't be able to scream while being shocked so hard. She was wrong. Barbara, simultaneously being violated and fried to a crisp, shrieked.
"That's it girlie!" Harley murmured, her voice all but lost between the cries and crackles. "Ride the lightning!"
Electricity raced across Barbara's sweat and blood covered body, occasionally shooting up in brilliant white streaks. The eyesockets of her mask lit up for a few seconds before fading back to normal, the multiple overlays inside all activating at once before they finally shorted out altogether. The terrified hero could feel the saliva in her mouth start to boil, having been heated by the fillings in her teeth. And through it all, her screams continued.
Quinn, however, had her attention caught on something else. Either due to natural instinct or just because of the uncontrollable spasms, she was almost certain that Batgirl's hips were rocking against the intruding hand. With a purr and a lick of her lips Harley dipped in her probing fingers deeper, not wanting to leave her toy wanting.
Glowing with energy, Batgirl jerked and shuddered in a maddening hell of pleasure and pain. Her mind was lost at sea, turned over and over in the endless currents of overwhelming sensations. Heaving and panting and crying, her limits were finally reached.
With one last shriek Batgirl came, her fluids adding even more for the gauntlet to work with. But Barbara fell backwards after doing so and Harley - being careful not to touch the girl with her own bare skin, broke their connection to scramble out of the way. So there the girl lay; smoking, and occasionally spasming in a puddle of her own fluids.
"Hoo-boy!" Quinn cheered, turning to face the camera. "I can't wait until Puddin' sees this!"
"Hmm?" Harley asked, leaning down to put an ear near Batgirl's steaming mouth. "You say something, firecracker?"
"Joker... is burning... in hell..."
Harley froze in place for a stretch of time, her face nigh unreadable. Mike was just about to work up the courage to ask if something was wrong when the girl shot back up with a jerk.
"Well." Quinn said almost mechanically as she shook off her glove. "Next toy."
Barbara had mostly retreated into her own mind, and even there her thoughts tormented her.
She had failed her father.
She had failed her adopted family.
And worst of all, she was late for tea.
Batgirl was pulled back to reality to find the clown girl looming over her; with Carpenter's staple gun in one hand and a collection of the Mad Hatter's mind control cards in the other.
"Hold still, Batbrain." Harley commanded as she went in with another card.
It now dawned on her. Harley was stapling the cards to her armored helmet, and by extension her head. Barbara was not just Barbara any more. She was also Alice. And the Doormouse and the Carpenter and the Walrus and-
CH-CCHNK CH-CCHNK CH-CCHNK CH-CCHNK
"Coo-coo-ca-ch..." Batgirl mumbled, all the thoughts crashing together in her mind.
Harley stepped back and watched with satisfaction as the Bat thrashed on the ground, trying to make sense of the chaos that was now her thoughts. She flailed for a bit before curling into a ball, clawing at her armored head with such ferocity that grooves were dug into the armor and the fingers of her gloves tore open.
With the last bit of legible thought she had left, Barbara realized one thing: If she was to survive, the helmet had to go. Not thinking twice - because there were none left - Batgirl undid the safety latches to her helmet, yanked it off, and threw it across the room.
Mercifully, sanity returned to her very-nearly crippled brain.
Unfortunately, that also meant that she now realized what she had done.
And while the cameraman looked upon her face with genuine ignorance, her 'co-star' very clearly knew what was up.
"So Barbie..." Quinn asked, tilting her head to the side with a smile that would have made the Chesire Cat proud. "...Does poppa Gordon know that you're out this late?"
If you listened very, very closely, you could almost hear the sound of gears clicking about in Mike’s head.
At first, this had seemed like a golden opportunity falling into his lap. Unmasking a cape was the holy grail of henchmandom, something only a coveted few had ever been a part of. Granted, Harley was doing most of the work, but rumors had a way of blurring details. Bare minimum, his name would get circulated through plenty of the less legal channels. Doors would open.
But then things started to connect. ‘Poppa Gordon’. There was only one man with that name worth knowing in Gotham, and Harley’s implication wasn’t just random crazy ramblings, then...
Mike’s eyes widened to saucer-size as the gravity of the situation began to weigh on him. If you listened very closely, you could also hear the sound of his heart suddenly skipping a beat. Maybe he really would change his name…
Harley’s original plan had been to repeatedly and alternately violate and maul Batgirl, all while she was stuck in the mindset of a seven-year-old Alice. She’d even planned on pretending to be the Queen of Hearts, to really get into the spirit and make the whole scene work.
This wasn’t as good as that. But it was a close second.
"Well, well, well, well!" Harley had a giggle fit as she skipped around Batgirl - no, Barbara Gordon. There she was, all fresh-faced and nubile and looking like a deer in the headlights. "If it ain’t the Comish’s little bookworm baby girl. Sneaking out and playing vigilante when your Daddy’s not looking?" Harley wagged a finger Barbara’s way, as the distraught heroine frantically and futilely tried to cover her face. "Naughty, naughty. And since Daddy ain’t here, guess I’ll have to punish-"
Harley was interrupted as Batgirl burst to her feet and made a mad dash for Mike - or, to be specific, Mike’s camera. That was what she needed. Harley and this guy knowing her identity was bad, but it was containable - everybody thought Harley was out of her gourd, so they might not even believe her and some random mook without proof.
She didn’t have to do much. She just had to destroy it. Break it. All she needed was a second.
Or, at least, she would’ve only needed a second if her body had been working properly. But after being beaten, whipped, and electrified in two places where she never wanted electricity to be anywhere near, that simply wasn't happening, and her body gave out after two clumsy steps. She fell to the floor, looking up at Mike as he backed away for a better angle.
"Puh…" Barbara’s voice was hoarse and ragged, a raspy drawl. "Please…" She feebly reached out for the camera she dragged her limping body along the floor. Barbara had seen the look in Mike’s eyes, she knew there was some reason there. "Just give it to me. It’s not too late-"
Harley’s brought her boot up and drove the heel down on Barbara’s hand, hammering it into the ground. The hapless heroine had thought her lungs were far too tortured to scream anymore, but she learned they weren’t in the hardest way imaginable.
"Stop breaking the fourth wall!" Harley raised her foot and drove it down again, emphasizing her last word, before she sashayed off in a huff and shook her head. "Amateurs. Sheesh."
Barbara rolled over to her back, cradling the broken bones in her hand. Every few moments, her body would shudder and spasm, still reeling for the voltage. The whip marks were a constant pain on top of that, and it all melded together to turn her body into one gigantic hotspot of agony. The worst part was the realization that, as bad as Quinn had hurt her, it was all on the skin, all on the outside. There was nothing she couldn’t recover from with a little time and care, and that was likely the point - Harley wanted her ‘pet’ in top condition, after all.
Harley wasn’t joking about that. That was what she really expected to happen here. The only question was...how? She could torture Barbara, she could wreck her in all kinds of ways, she could use whatever devices she wanted, but she wasn’t going to break. She’d been trained by the best, knew how to resist torture, and it would take more - much more than this - to ever push her over the edge.
Barbara took some solace in that thought. That was, until she turned her attention back to Harley, and saw that she wasn’t, in fact, picking up any new items at the moment. Quite the opposite - she was taking her clothes off.
The Man Called Mike was just as confused as Barbara, though he was noticeably more aroused by the sight. Off came the top and the frilly little Harley had been wearing, to reveal a body that had previously been on for the eyes of the Clown Prince himself. It was easy to forget in a city with Catwoman and Poison Ivy, but Harley had every bit of the appeal they did. Maybe even more so, in some ways.
While Pamela Isley had a runway model’s figure and Catwoman would’ve been a perfect look for any stripper pole you could find, Harley was more of a natural beauty. Full hips. Slim thighs. Plump breasts. And most of it was on full display, now. She had the body of a woman who didn't much care how hot she was, but was sexy regardless.
Harley wasn’t naked underneath, but she wasn’t far from it. She wore a white corset, accentuating every curve along her sides, with her breasts out and bare for the whole world to see. She did have on panties - red and black - but they covered little and hugged her sex, showing a clear outline of everything they were supposed to hide. Little was left to the imagination, and the blanks were simple to fill.
Barbara noticed this all as well, but with a different reaction. Instead, there was fear. She’d seen enough criminals and encountered enough perversions to recognize the look on Harley’s face. Those hungry eyes, the tongue sliding across her lip. She’d thought, hoped, prayed, that being forced to orgasm against her will was the height of humiliation. No such luck.
"What..." Barbara murmured, managing to scrounge up enough energy to sit up and start sliding away from Harley on her bare butt. She knew it was pointless. She didn’t care. "What are you-"
"You and your little Bat buddies are always snooping around, right?" Harley casually interrupted while she shuffled away from Barbara, idly clopping around with her boots. She started searching through the crates, rifling through all sorts of deadly paraphernalia. "You know about me and Ivy, doncha, Barbie Doll?"
As it turned out, yes, ‘Barbie’ did. The rumor had been circulating for a while, and Batman, as he was wont to do, made sure to confirm, wanting to have the most complete picture of his enemy’s relationships.
Barbara wasn’t going to answer that question, and it didn’t seem like Harley really cared, either. "It’s okay, I ain’t got a bit of shame. Thing is, much as I love my puddin’, I like to keep my options open, too."
Harley stopped her stroll near the end of the roll, having a quick clap before she reached in and pulled out...a box? Just a small, metal box, not much bigger than the hand holding it. Barbara wasn’t sure what to make of it at first, and that feeling continued when Harley opened and pulled out a tiny cylinder. Barbara had to squint just to see it through her tear-stained, bleary eyes.
Lipstick. The reactions on Barbara’s face told the whole story.
There was confusion - a furrowed brow - when she figured out what the item was.
There were wide, blinking eyes as she realized who that lipstick likely belong to.
There was a gaze of utter horror as she started to follow the logical conclusion on where it was all going, and from there Barbara started to crawl back a little faster. She even turned to her stomach and began clawing her way through the dirt.
"See, thing is..." Harley took a moment to enjoy the sight of Barbara tight little butt jiggling left and right, left and right, left and right as she desperately inched towards the vault door. Bless her heart, she was really going for it.
"Thing is, nobody can really please a woman like a woman can, you know?" Harley smeared the lipstick along her mouth, perfectly tracing along the edge and leaving a dark red trail behind. "And you, Barbs? Seeing how I set you off?" Harley pointed a lazy finger at the small pool Barbara made when she died the little death, still fresh and steaming. "I say you owe me some good pleasing."
Harley’s approach to lovemaking turned out to be much like her approach to everything else - rough, violent, sloppy, with no regard for the physical or mental wellbeing of others.
She came in from the side and kicked Barbara in the ribs, shoving the instep right into her bones and targeting the most tender area. One kick wasn’t enough to do it - not so much because Barbara had the energy to resist, but because she was so close to being dead weight at this point.
Two kicks didn’t do it.
"Ah, come on!" Harley took a step back, lining up the shot like a field goal. "On your back!"
Harley got a running start and punted Barbara in the gut, fitting her foot in flush between the folds of her stomach. That was enough to do the trick, much to Harley’s delight. "Acting like you never been in this position before."
She stepped over Barbara and plopped down hard on her crotch, reigniting the tortured area with new flames of pain. That would’ve been distressing enough, but Harley started to grind again, working her cheeks along the burnt flesh, once again mixing pleasure and with searing agony.
"Aw, Barbie, what’s wrong?" Harley reached over and gave her reluctant playmate a quick slap across her shivering cheeks. "Never done it with a girl before, right? Not a prob. I got all the experience we’ll need."
Harley inched forward, smacking away the weak attempts at resistance Barbara made as she brought their lips closer and closer together, and the heroine’s shivering grew by the second. Barbara had no idea what flavor of Ivy’s lipstick this was - the effects could range from anything to instant death to making you a willing slave, ready to do anything and everything the user desired.
Frankly, Barbara wasn’t sure which would be worse.
As previously noted, Harley Quinn was not nearly as harmless or stupid as one would expect given her track record. Even putting aside the fact that said track record was against someone who regularly works as an equal alongside a literal superman capable of throwing Earth into the sun, special focus should be placed on her particular history and strengths.
Mainly, how she could very well be the worst person in all of Gotham to have to go up against in this specific type of conflict.
Why? It's easy as one, two, three.
One: A doctorate in psychology. Not one of those phony ones most villains who slap 'Dr' onto their names sport; she was honest to god, hang-up-on-your-wall certified. And while there may have been an instance or two where her grades were suddenly boosted after a few private ‘cram sessions’ with professors, it still stood that 'Doctor' Quinzel had quite a few years of academic knowledge specifically about examining (then molding) human thought processes.
Two: A... 'Friendly' relationship with the black widow to end all black widows. In their time together Harley Quinn was given a front seat to Poison Ivy breaking all varieties of wills; the strong and the weak, the stubborn and the pliant, men and women alike. Sometimes she cut right to the chase with her various chemical cocktails (that she had immunized Harley against in order to prevent her getting sick during 'playtime,' by the way), but sometimes a more conventional touch was an easier way to go. Or, y'know, just more amusing. In any case, Harley had seen legions of people broken down by her companion; and personally helped out with more than just a few of them.
Then there's 3, which may very well be the most important of all: Harley's own experience on 'the other side'.
There are many psychopaths who claim to be able to bend others to their will. Many of them even have credentials to back said boasts up. But how many had been 'broken' themselves? How many actually knew how it felt; knew what techniques and strategies worked better than others not because of theory and guesswork, but because those were what hit them the hardest?
Even if Harley did not (at least fully) realize it, Joker had given her a very potent edge in this field of battle. In much the same way that someone who trained up to the 'peak' of martial arts without real fights would be summarily executed by a seasoned bar brawler, the psychological and physical erosion her Puddin' had subjected her over the span of their 'relationship' only enhanced her possible repertoire. This was not a checklist to go down or a task to be done, it was a way of life.
A life she was intent on spreading to the vulnerable, shivering bat before her.
Barbara squeezed her eyes closed and braced as they locked lips, but for what she did not actually know. Death? Mind control? Paralyzation? All were just as likely, so she mentally prepared for each in equal measures.
What she got was something the apprentice detective never saw coming: Nothing.
Sure, there was the feeling of Quinn pressing against her. Even a little bit of daring tongue; Harley apparently guessing (correctly) that Barbara was too confused to realize she could bite down on the intruder. But she felt nothing taking hold of her system, nothing trying to wrest away her sanity. Just her and Quinn, locked in an embrace.
After a few worryingly pleasant moments Quinn drew back, licking her painted lips as she did so. She then ran her hands across Barbara’s trembling body - with teasing lightness - before locking gazes with the girl below her.
"Gotcha goin', didn't I?"
Harley heard Batgirl release the air she was holding in a sigh, something kinda-sorta approaching relief at the fact that it was just a joke.
It'll be a lot harder for her to connect the dots roughly three minutes from now, after her hormones went totally bonkers.
Ivy had a huge selection of toxins and pheromone extracts, sporting their own symptoms and severities, and Harley knew each and every one of them with intimate detail. And there was a reason why she picked this particular bit of lipstick out of all the others back in that crate. Sure, she could have used something potent enough to instantly enslave the bat, but that type of deal only lasts as long as you can keep the dosing up. If you really want them in for the long haul you work a little behind the scenes so to speak, don't let on how much you're actually controlling things.
Because if you can convince them that they made the choice themselves, then you have them for keeps.
Speaking of which...
"Aw," Harley cooed, her voice taking a somewhat softer tone. "Did I spook ya with that?"
Quinn's wandering palms paused on Barbara's chest, feeling the jackhammer of her heart.
"Seems like I did. Thought you were a bat, not a hummingbird."
Harley dropped down on the terrified - but now so very confused - girl, laying on top of her like a lover post coitus. The villainess’ pale hands worked their way under Barbara's head, cradling it and playing with her fiery red hair.
"Take deep breaths, Barb. In. Out."
Harley paused between each word to do an exaggerated inhale and exhale, as if leading by example. This, on top of her now-synchronized grinding, added up to a... not completely unpleasant sensation.
"In. Out. In. Out. Goood..."
Despite everything, Barbara did feel herself start to calm down a bit. There was something about the rhythmic breathing... the beautiful body heaving steadily against her...
"There ya go. There ya go. Keep at it, and you'll be there in no time."
Smoothly, without any sudden movements, Quinn took one of Barbara's hands and set it so it cupped one of the clown princess' breasts. Through the holes in her gloves Batgirl could feel her heartbeat... among other things...
"See how calm I am?"
Harley looked on with glee as damn near every emotion in existence flowed over Barbara's face: Despair, fear, embarrassment, befuddlement, inquisitiveness... and now something teetering on desire. Harley knew full well what Batgirl's reddening face and increased squirming meant. But did she yet?
In any case, a little more nudging couldn't hurt.
Quinn tightened her grip on the hand for a fraction of a second, causing it to squeeze her breast more on instinct than anything else. But Harley played it up excellently, leaning back slightly with a gasp of surprise.
"Oh Barbie," Harley moaned, biting her lower lip lightly to sell the scene. "Getting into it, eh?"
She dropped back down onto her plaything, planting a few kisses up and down her neck, before continuing.
"Well, I'm up for it. Making love instead of war, and all that."
If she had not just come off of a stint where she believed that she was the entire cast of Alice in Wonderland at the same time, Barbara would have pegged this as the single most confusing moment of her life. She didn't just grope her torturer. She was sure of it.
But then, what was going on now? Why had Harley switched from full-on psychopath to tender lover? Why was she letting this happen? And worst of all, why did it all feel so good?
"I don't..." Barbara tried to explain. "I'm not..."
Despite the agonies all throughout her body, she could feel herself getting more and more excited as the caresses and kisses continued. If anything it helped, the aches as each wound was touched only further highlighting the linked pleasure.
Slowly, stealthily, Barbara began to creep one of her hands down to her throbbing sex.
But not nearly stealthily enough. With surprising speed considering how slowly she was taking everything else, Harley grabbed her by the wrist and held it down.
"Uh uh uh, batbrain. We talked about this. Don't be greedy."
With a heave Harley lifted herself up, going over Barbara before turning around and sitting back down on her face. Now the only thing the girl could see was Quinn's panties. And smell. And, theoretically, taste.
"You handle me, and I'll handle you."
Quinn rocked idly back and forth as she waited for Barbs to make her decision. Partly to put on a show for the camera, but also to disguise the other movements she was currently making.
While one of her hands was busy encouraging Barbara to make the right choice via selective tweaks and caresses, the other had gone back to fish a little something out of her boot. A piece of crime scene evidence she had picked up while in the police station proper, just as a little added insurance.
Ah, there it was!
With a cheeky smile Harley held up the item for both her and the cameraman to see: A serrated, nasty looking knife already caked with dried blood. Something Zsasz used in his last spree. Decent enough guy, but not a single creative bone in the poor sap’s body.
"Remember Barbs..." Harley cooed, bringing the knife down until it almost touched skin as she waited. "...In and out. In. And. Out."
Miles away, Tim Drake stood next the unconscious body of one Harvey Dent, better known as Two-Face, on the street outside of the Bank of Gotham. Inside, there were many other unconscious and semiconscious bodies, mostly belonging to men with half-black, half-white masks. He’d done it, stopped Two-Face’s plan cold. Gotham’s precious funds were safe for another day.
He couldn't take any joy from it. "Still no word from Batgirl, Alfred?"
"No, Master Tim," Alfred’s posh accent came back over the communicator in Tim’s mask, full of worry. "Ten minutes now, and not a single peep. I thought I picked up a blip from her utility belt, but…"
"It was quickly disabled. It's not unusual for structures to interfere with our communication, but for this long, like this? It's quite worrisome."
‘Worrisome’. Tim could've thought of more vulgar words to describe it.
Tim looked over his shoulder as the sound of sirens came in over the distance - Gotham’s finest, late for the party. "Police can handle it from here, Alfred." Robin brought out his grappling hook and took aim at the nearest ledge. He hooked onto it and went soaring off at high speeds, whipping across the skyline with a speed and grace that would've put his namesake to shame. "I'm on my way."
"Very good, sir. Do hurry." Alfred sounded a little relieved, but not by much. The long nights were starting to wear away on even his legendary reserves. "Pray you're not too late."
Truth told, Robin typically wasn't much for prayer. But tonight? He might.
Dr. Harleen Quinzel wasn't dead. Not all the way. Deep inside the tortured, twisted psyche of Harley Quinn, an eager psychiatrist was watching this scenario play out with an intrigued gaze and an inquiring mind.
She'd often wondered how Ivy’s toxins would work on someone who wasn't naturally attracted to her. More often than not she targeted men, and while they'd had some interesting experiences with women, Harley had never really gotten the chance to see how far they could bend a straight girl. This was the sort of opportunity you simply could not get within the confines of the law.
Well, here was her first test subject. Ready and willing. Or getting there.
While her father had done his best to give Barbara a clean upbringing, Barbara Gordon was a computer geek at heart, and she'd absorbed stumbled across plenty of smut in her time. She wasn't a neophyte. She knew what a lesbian - an extremely kinky, horny lesbian - would do in this situation. But she wasn’t a lesbian.
She and Tim had a decent relationship. Granted, intimacy had been lacking recently, but then again, everything was lacking recently. They had a mission, and that mission was second only to-
Oh, God, Harley’s breath felt amazing against her sex. Really, every word she said had a nice tingle to it. This slight vibration that traveled through their bodies and made her legs tingle…
But Barbara had never had any attraction to other women. Not once. Not ever. Even if she did, there was no way she was going to get aroused by being on a dirty floor with a crazy psychopath in clown makeup waving her hot, sweltering sex in front of her face with-
Harley’s plump breasts were mushrooming against Barbara’s stomach, sliding against her abs. The stiff nipples prodded away on her skin, lightly scraping at it…
Barbara moaned. She didn’t mean to moan. She didn’t want to moan. But it happened, and despite not being to see Harley’s face, she knew the Clown Princess was smiling ear-to-ear.
“What’s wrong, bookworm?” Harley piped in, figuring her little captive had just about all the time she needed. “Shy?”
Harley reached back and slid her panties aside, leaving nothing between Barbara’s face and her pussy. The vault was poorly lit, but even in the shadows she could see the outline and the clear, shaven flesh, as the heat came out it in waves. It was just right there, and Barbara only had to do one, little thing. That was fair, right? Harley was making her feel good, she could reciprocate. She was already under duress, no one could hold it against her.
In. And. Out. In and out. "In and out."
Harley heard the raspiest whisper, and then, it finally happened.
Oh, it took Harley a bit longer than she’d guessestimated, and Barbara was being a Nervous Nancy about it. But sure enough, that tiny, timid little tongue tapped her sex. First a touch. Then another. Then a nice, long, lick.
Harley let out a husky purr that would’ve made Selina shiver, and arched her back, pressing into her test subject’s face. "There you go, that's the way." Just a little nudging. That was all she needed.
Barbara was, of course, inexperienced, but she made up for that with eagerness. Every stroke of her tongue was longer. Every push was deeper. Through it all, she still obeyed the instructions. In and out. In and out.
"Good job so far." Harley smacked her lips and gave her tongue a little bite. "Just let me help you out. A little."
Harley pressed her pussy down, against Barbara’s face, let her cheeks settle against her new pet’s face and block out her view. Suddenly, the meek little librarian’s entire world was consumed. Every breath she breathed, everything she saw, everything she tasted, all of it was dominated by Harley Quinn.
Barbara didn’t hate it.
Harley forgot herself for a moment, getting lost in the sensations. Mr. J never really gave her this sort of treatment, and while she could count on Ivy for whatever, her Best Friend With Awesome Benefits had been running a spell in Arkham for the last few months. She’d been needing a little extra love down below, and Barbara was doing a great job of coming through in a pinch.
Harley had to return the favor, didn’t she? But, at the same time, Barbara did make that little crack about Mr. J. Examples had to be made.
"Now," Harley brought the knife down along Barbara’s most private of places. "My turn."
Harley was a woman of her word - unless, of course, Mr. J needed her to lie for whatever reason - and she kept her word, handling Barbara while she was handling her.
Harley Quinn wasn’t a surgeon and Zsazs’ knife wasn’t a scalpel, but she made the best of the situation, sliding the knife around Barbara’s delicate folds. She worked a delicate routine, sliding the knife around, letting it cut here and there but never too much, never too hard. She didn't want her new plaything to bleed out on the floor, but at the same time, she wanted this to hurt as much as it felt good. Fine line to walk.
Barbara couldn’t see what was happening, but she really didn’t need to. Her senses were working in overtime enough as it was.
There was something hard and metal and sharp prodding against her sex, cutting away at her folds like the edges of a fine steak. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it still hurt, every prod was like fire on her delicate skin, forcing a shriek out of Barbara - one that was muffled in by Harley’s thrusting pussy.
Harley loved the shrieks.
The tongue was nice, yeah, but the screams Barbara was making enhanced the experience in a way she hadn’t experienced before, which was saying something in Harley’s case. This whole situation - the dominance, the fighting, the thrill of mounting a Bat - was revving her up, making her get lost in the tingling sensation between her legs.
But it could get better. Harley knew it could get better.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
Her sex hurt - oh, God, it hurt - but there was pleasure for Barbara. The more pain she took from the knife, the hotter she got, the more pleasure she experienced. Something bad was happening. Something maybe irreversible. But Barbara couldn’t bring herself to care. Every cell in her body was screaming for release, and she was going to get it. Her tongue probed deeper and deeper, her mouth gaped wide open as if she was ready to devour Harley from the inside out. The screams were fading, replaced with feral growls.
Almost there, almost-
Almost there. Harley was getting right to the edge, and it wasn’t just the feel of Barbie Doll’s face against her rapidly wettening pussy. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the bestial roars coming from Barbara - innocent, sweet, goodie-two-shoes Barbara - the knowledge that this dirty little moment was going to live forever all across the internet, to be watched by Papa Gordon, all the other little Batfreaks and all of Gotham…
Harley exploded all over Barbara’s face, dousing her face with gushing bursts. Her toes curled, she threw her head back, and as a wild, guttural cry came from her throat, the kind that had previously only been heard by two special people. It was wild, it was crazy, it was-
It was magnificent.
Barbara was hardly a virgin, hardly a stranger to this kind of pleasure, but she’d never felt it like this. The pain was excruciating, but the euphoria that came along with it almost immediately nullified all of that. For the second time in ten minutes, Barbara’s body went into a spastic fit, as her brain struggled to cope with the onrush of conflicting sensations. She was in heaven and hell at the same time, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about the latter. All that mattered was the result: satisfaction.
Tim didn't come close. Not on his best days.
From rooftop to rooftop Tim traveled, lost in worry over what he may already be too late for. So consumed in his dark thoughts he was, the boy wonder almost didn't notice when Alfred opened up a line to him again.
He may have actually ignored it regardless, if not for the message itself.
"Her utility belt is transmitting. Distress signal. And not at the station."
Tim slid to a halt mid-stride, his boots kicking up a small wave on the drenched concrete below him.
"Send me the location."
Harley took a moment afterwards - to catch her breath and regain what passed for her composure - before dismounting and turning to take in the progress of her 'patient'.
All in all, the experiment seemed to be an unparalleled success.
Barbara lied bonelessly on her back, free of all tension. Her chest rose and dipped with speed, but was gradually winding down as she came back from her ascent. Underneath the sheen of Harley's juices and the smudged makeup from earlier Batgirl sported a goofy smile, and her glassy eyes stared off pleasantly into nothing.
The bat had been broken down. Now it was time to build right back up.
With a smile, Quinn took a handful of Barbara's scalp and hoisted her up to a sloppy sitting position. The girl was still far too out of it to remain upright by herself, but Harley embraced her from behind to give her something to brace against. Also to give Mike a nice shot of them both. In hindsight, maybe the latter more than the former.
"See?" Harley spoke to the camera, and via proxy a certain cadre of crimefighters and/or policemen in the very near future. "We kissed and made up. Everything turned out alright after all!"
The clown princess merrily held out two fingers in front of her and Barbara, posing for the camera. It could have meant 'peace'... or it could have been a 'V' for 'Victory'.
This uncertainty was cut off at the pass, however, as Batgirl shakily lifted one of her own hands to display the same gesture. This was a victory, all right. Just not hers.
Barbara's thoughts were in shambles, hot and blurry like there was a sauna in her brain. While she mimicked the gesture on instinct she did not entirely process it, all her attentions now focused on the new wonders laid out to her.
"So..." Harley whispered into her ear, the breath warm and inviting against her feverish skin. "...Would you like more, pet?"
The response was immediate, her focus for a moment honing to a razor's edge like a junkie presented with a potential fix. "Yes. Yes."
"Good" Harley cooed.
Before slamming Barbara's head face-first into the ground.
"Because now we get to the rough stuff."
Batgirl's world burst into fireworks as her skull rebounded off the hard ground, and she let out a low moan of... wait, what was it of now? Did she even know any more?
She had little time to consider it, though, as her face was brought crashing down into the floor again. And again. And again.
The tiles around them began to speckle with blood as batgirl was repeatedly mashed against them. Crimson and purple joined the already chaotic colors adorning her visage, mixing freely with the makeup, saliva, and love juices. Her body spasmed with each landing, jerking with each new concussion.
When Harley was sure that she couldn't go any further without putting her new toy under, she pulled back the bat in an arch so that she was looking upside-down at Quinn herself. Harley took note of Barbara's crooked nose and swelling lips, but those weren’t what pleased her the most. That was further along, down to her chest. Batgirl was fondling one of her own breasts with a partially-gloved hand.
She was adapting. Like any good pet should.
Harley licked her lips in anticipation before locking them with Barbara's, tasting her coppery mouth as she passionately dug in. When she had her fill she drew back, and locked gazes with the foggy, swollen eyes of her plaything.
"I-" Barbara began, before a slap cut her off.
"No. You are a pet. Now speak."
Batgirl took a few moments to process this, being in the condition she was, but eventually it got through.
"Gooood" Quinn encouraged, before pulling back harder to bend Barbara's spine into a U shape.
Barbara's body strained against the stress, her sweat-beaded and sloppily painted form quivering enticingly for the camera.
"Please..." Batgirl started, but stopped to swallow a buildup of various liquids in her mouth before she could continue. "Please… harder..."
Quinn beamed, her smile almost wide enough to cut her head in half. She had done it! For real! And to think, all she came here to do was...
Realizing that she was 'behind schedule,' Harley released her plaything and rose back up to standing. Barbara fell onto her chest with a whuff, but it was only a moment before she crawled over to Harley and started nuzzling her boot.
"Boss?" Mike asked, looking around his camcorder. "Is something wrong."
"No, not at all" Harley responded slowly, apparently deep in thought. "In fact..."
The clown princess started to skip merrily even further into the vault, and crawling behind her went the broken Batgirl. Taking up the rear was Mike, still well at work literally taking up rears.
"C'mon kids," Harley said offhandedly. "Let's go fetch."
For once, Jenna was banking on a cape.
Sure, this 'hideout' (an abandoned hangar she had repurposed into a workshop) was as good as worthless now. And she most definitely was going to jail. But the Carpenter had no regrets for activating the beacon she found in the utility belt and letting it do it's thing. She had thought of the possibility on the way home, but when she realized that she no longer had her electric drill it became the only option she had. She simply would not be able to live with herself doing anything else, and even this one might be too little too late.
There it was.
Doors giving way, hinges bending, glass breaking. Someone was in a hurry to get in here. And for good reason.
The Carpenter stood up from her seat, belt in hand, and waited. She had to tell whichever night-vigilante that answered this call what was happening, what they had to do to stop it from spiraling even more out of control.
She'd just have to figure out how to stop her mouth from getting punched in before the whole story got out.
The three finally reached their destination: Two armored boxes criss-crossed with breathing holes. Kennels, maybe?
Before they got too close to it, though, Harley turned and motioned for Mike to stay where he was.
"Use the zoom, but don't get any closer."
"Are you sur-"
"Well, ya could, but I'm actually startin' ta like ya a little."
That was more than enough warning for him. Mike, the seasoned mook that he was, took a few steps back just to be sure before resuming his filming.
Barbara watched idly from her all-fours position as her master went to work on the boxes, slowly dismantling the things with a variety of tools she had apparently nicked from Carpenter. It took a bit of time, but eventually the locks finally gave and the containers swung open.
Out from the interior shadows slunk two hyenas: Harley Quinn's adored Bud and Lou. As exotic animals as well as technical weaponry, they were housed in here following their capture during a previous caper. They seemed well off all things considered... if a little scrawny...
"Mommy's back!" Harley cheered, crouching down to hug her babies as they eagerly licked her face. "I'm here to pick you up. Even brought you a playmate!"
Almost as one, Harley and the two hyenas turned to regard Barbara. They all looked upon her with clear hunger in their eyes, although the exact nature of that varied.
"...Or a snack."
Jenna had never crossed paths with Robin before, but she’d heard plenty. He was supposed to be the friendlier part of the dynamic duo. The one who would smash your face in, but at least make a few jokes about it along the way. The one who wouldn’t make you shit your pants.
Well, now that Jenna was actually encountering Robin - the newest version - she knew enough to realize that was bullshit. Robin could be plenty scary when he wanted to be.
She hadn’t see him. She’d heard him, sure, she could hear the occasional footsteps tromping around on her wooden floor, fading and nearing. He was close, but she couldn’t tell where and which way he was coming from.
Then she felt it. The breath against the back of her neck, tickling her tiny hairs. She whipped around and he was just there. Just standing there. As if he’d appeared out of the ether.
She took his appearance as well as could be expected. "Shit!" Jenna stumbled back and fell flat on her butt, dropping the belt in the process. "Wait, stop, listen-"
Robin didn't wait, he didn't stop, and he really didn't listen. The moment he caught sight of the utility belt, he moved in fast and whipped his bo staff out in a flash, using it to strike her hard in the stomach. Carpenter wasn't that bad in a fight - good enough to handle the riffraff in the bars she frequented - but Robin was on a different level, and it showed when his blow crashed hard into her solar plexus.
She doubled over, gasped her stomach, gasped, and realized that, as much as this sucked, she probably deserved it. That revelation didn't make it hurt any less.
As potentially fun as this could be, Harley had a potential conundrum here.
On one hand, she had a new toy in the turned Batgirl - Batbitch? Batslut? Had to give her a new name - and while Harley had no problem with maiming, slicing, smashing, cutting, kicking, punching, choking and dealing out all sorts of devilish damage, the one thing she didn’t want to do was kill her, which Bud and Lou could certainly do. While hyenas were scavengers, people thought that meant they were weak. Far from the truth - one hyena could easily kill a grown man. Or, in this case, a bat.
Not yet, anyway. Maybe down the road, at some point, couldn’t hurt to keep the options open. But she’d turned one of the Batbrats into her own personal sex slave. There was far too much potential here to waste. After all, if there was one thing she learned from the Joker, it was that comedy is all about timing.
On the other hand, her babies were hungry. While there were a few recently made corpses laying around GCPD headquarters, live prey was always the best. And the image of Batgirl dying in orgasmic bliss while being mauled to death did appeal.
"Decisions, decisions, decisions." Harley strutted around her old babies while she gave her new one the occasional glance, pondering how best to go about this. Barbara seemed to see the problem here, too, judging from the way she was anxiously chewing her lip and looking intently Harley’s way. She was getting addicted to the pain, connecting it with the pleasure, and she wanted more, so much more, of her favorite new drug.
"Please," Batgirl mumbled and moaned, while her hand did its best to keep her breasts hot and ready. "Harder. Hard-"
A punt in the face from Harley’s boot solved two problems at once, as the battered husk of Batgirl was sent sprawling on her back. She didn't block it, didn't even tense up, which made the blow all the worse. Or better. "Keep your panties on!" She squawked, then took a pause. "For now!"
Harley watched Barbara writhe and wring herself out for a moment. She didn't want her babies to dine on her new sidekick, but that didn't mean they couldn't have a little fun. Get those jaws working. See how strong they were after a bring coupes up after so long.
"Okay, boys." She skipped over behind her babies, gleefully getting out of the way. Just like a real weapon, you didn't want to get between them and their target. "Have fun with your new chew toy."
Mike took another step back.
Jenna would give Robin credit: the man didn't discriminate. If he hit men any harder than he hit her, she'd be hard pressed to tell.
A right cross - the third one she'd taken on what would surely develop into a black eye - sent Jenna tumbling over the ironing board, bringing it down along with her when she crashed on the other side. She grabbed the iron out of reflex and held it up as he advanced on her, but if Robin was impressed by her blunt instrument, he wasn't showing it through that domino mask of his.
He stepped over her, raised his boot, and brought her boot down on Jenna’s arm, mashing it to the floor and pinning it there with the rest of her body attached. For now.
"Answers." He gave his heel a slight twist, bringing up the pain in her arm. Lack of circulation wasn't helping things. "And they’d better be good ones."
Hyenas could bite. Hard. They had some of the strongest jaws in the world, capable of breaking bones with ease and tearing through flesh easier than a knife through paper. The most dangerous mouths in the world. If Harley wanted them to, Bud and Lou could rip through Harley in seconds, leave nothing but shreds meat and a puddle of blood, along with other assorted bodily fluids.
But Bud and Lou had been in captivity for a while, not at their full strength. So when pounce on Barbara and started to gnaw away on her arms and legs, it wasn’t quite as bad as it could’ve been. But it still hurt. It was still crushing force being applied to bones that were never designed to take it. It was still terrifying, fierce pain.
Barbara loved it.
"Yes!" She let out a dark, throaty, guttural moan as Bud took hold of an arm right while Lou snagged a leg, and the two feral beasts began pulling in opposite directions. Her arms and legs still had the gloves on, providing some small protection, but only enough to keep her skin from getting pierced. Not enough to stop the pressure bearing down each limb, or the torque behind every vicious twist.
The two hyenas were engaged in a tug of war, with Barbara as the rope between them. She was dragged along the floor, leaving a trail in the dust behind her as they swung her, her body spasming along the way. Eventually it was Lou who won out, Bud's teeth carving lines into Batgirl’s armored gloves as they lost their purchase and eventually slipped away. Lou, not ready for the loss of resistance, fell back on his haunches as Barbara trembled on her back between them.
Bud was not ready to completely give up their curious new toy though; Since Lou was apparently satiated with idly gnawing on her legs and ankles, that gave Bud free reign over everything else. And the hyena had never encountered anything that looked, acted, or even smelled quite like this.
Bud began his exploration at her hair; although hyena eyes were more suited to low light conditions - and thus did not pick up on tints of red too well - he could make out just enough to wish for a better look. Thus he poked his snout around inside the crimson tassels for a couple moments, taking in the smell of sweat and shampoo, before grabbing a small mouthful and pulling.
There was a tiny, wet sound as a segment of Batgirl's hair was pulled free from her scalp, accompanied by a gasp of ecstasy from the woman herself. Bud was about to retreat with his prize, to mull over until Lou grew bored with the main body, but then Barbara reached up to circle her arms around the hyena's neck from below and pull it's head against her.
"Good boy." Barbara whispered to the beast she held against her. "Ravage me."
Of course, Bud had no idea what any of those words actually meant. But now - with a noseful of heaving, glistening body saturated in smells of blood, sweat, sex, and countless chemicals - the spirit of the plea was granted well enough.
Sure, she was planning to all along, but maybe with a few omissions here and there. Skimp a little on the details that she was not exactly the most proud of in retrospect. But the Boy Wonder had quite a teacher when it came to interrogation, and the words almost tripped over themselves in their rush to get out.
So the story unfolded, full and uncut. And the further it went on, the darker Robin's expression went. She wasn't even sure how she could tell this through that mask of his; she supposed it was a sign of how deep his disgust was if anything.
"So you left her."
The foot lifted from her hand, allowing her to massage it with her other hand while flexing the fingers to check that she still could.
"It was all that I could do." she tried to reason, not quite buying it herself. "What else could I h-"
The foot came down once more, but higher this time. Seating itself across her throat, she was brought down to the ground with enough force to almost collapse her windpipe then and there.
"You left her defenseless, unmasked and naked. In front of Harley Quinn and a camera."
While all she could do was gargle and push at the boot now, she had to admit that he had a good point. Through the growing haze, almost idly in the serenity that comes with asphyxiation, she wondered if she'd even last long enough to worry about a jail sentence.
There was a crunch, and for a moment Lou poked the now much-more pliant ankle with his nose before moving on to the other leg. Batgirl let out a throaty groan at this but otherwise did not pay it too much mind, her focus now on the other hyena.
Barbara's fear and lust had mingled with the 'body paint' she was sporting to create a rather interesting cocktail of scents for Bud's sensitive nose. It made him wonder - as much as a creature like him could wonder - what kind of tastes went along with them.
Batgirl let out a sigh of pleasure as Bud's forelegs pushed against her stomach, forcing her down flat while scratching her up with their brutish claws... but then gasped in surprise as the hyena went to work licking her breasts. Sure, hyenas did everything rough and she earned a good score of tooth nicks in the process, but it was clear that his main objective was lapping up the crudely painted on smiley faces Quinn had applied earlier.
And even putting her new masochism aside, she didn't hate it.
Panting like a beast herself, Barbara put her two hands to work:
The first taking hold of the side of Bud's head and pulling him in, urging him to be even more forceful.
And the second sliding between her legs, to help along something that was already raring to go again.
She was learning so much about herself today.
"You left her." Tim growled again to the woman writhing beneath his foot. "You left her to die, or worse."
Deep inside, he knew that the Carpenter was probably torn up about all of this. She was by far one of the 'lighter' criminals in this asylum of a town, and stakes of this magnitude were a far cry from her M.O.
Harley was the real one to blame.
But dammit, Harley wasn't here right now.
So he pressed down harder. Then harder. Watched her face flush red, her struggles weaken to pawing helplessly at his boot. Saliva bubbled in her open mouth, running down the sides of her face while she gaped like a fish pulled out of the sea.
Only when she let out a final raspy mewl and her eyes rolled into the back of her head did he let up and let her breathe again. He was angry... but the one rule still stood.
Robin kicked over the unconscious Carpenter, and reached to retrieve a set of cuffs from his belt. He had wasted more than enough time here. He could only hope that there was still some left for him to use.
"Wow" Harley mused, having moved to right next to Mike. "Look at her go. Get a good shot of that, would ya?"
Barbara was rhythmically roiling on and off the ground, her hips bucking against her fingers as she worked herself. Losing herself in the pleasure her hold on Bud loosened somewhat, allowing him to dip further down to work on the 'Batcave' graffiti on her lower stomach.
"Oh yes..." she moaned, biting her lip until it bled. "Hurt me. Maul me."
She finally gave up completely on controlling Bud, fully dedicating both hands to her nethers. The hyena, now free, drew back somewhat to get a full view of things.
"Bite me. Scratch me."
It was now that he noticed the makeup on her face. Might as well go for that too.
"Chew me! Savage me!"
Bud reached up and opened his mouth to seize Barbara's skull, her face vanishing inside his slathery maw as the teeth held her in place and his tongue worked over her features. But still, while her back arched and her body tensed with yet another climax, her bestial roar of a command was still as audible as ever.
"Eat me! Kill me!"
"Aaaand that's a wrap." Harley stated, right before leaning over and stopping Mike's Camcorder.
Hyenas have a rigidly matriarchal society. In any hyena pack spots on the pecking order can shift over time, but the 'lowest' female will always be above the 'highest' male. Female hyenas are just so much bigger, stronger and meaner than the males that the concept is essentially an instinct to them.
So, while Joker technically called the shots, Harley was always the 'leader' to Bud and Lou. She was the girl. She was the boss. No matter what that pale thing in purple thought.
This was why Quinn was able to do things which would be straight out impossible for anyone else. Such as this right now.
Harley puckered her lips and whistled, and the effect was immediate. The two hyenas spat out their respective limbs, faced the 'boss', and stood tall on their haunches obediently.
"Good boys!" Harley cooed approvingly, clapping her hands with joy. "Ya remembered! I think that deserves a treat. Mike?"
"What am I..." Mike started, before Quinn made a more high-pitched whistle and the hyenas bounded towards him.
The camcorder flew up as Mike went down, and Harley skillfully caught the device as it descended. Wouldn't want that to get hurt now, would we?
Humming a little tune to herself to help drown out the screams and tearing flesh, Harley went to retrieve her clothes. Once she was fully dressed - well, as fully dressed as she ever was - she pocketed the camcorder.
But not before popping out the memory stick.
This police department undoubtedly had quite a few storage devices and computers scattered around. She had a couple errands to do while the Babies were having lunch.
Robin had arrived to find the GCPD an absolute mess in more ways than one. Signs of gunfights, signs of break-ins, and bodies littered everywhere. Thankfully there was only one in the vault itself, and while heavily mangled clearly was not Barbara.
At least, he thought that was a good thing.
He was now on his way back to the batcave, clutching a thumb drive in one balled hand. It was clearly meant for him, having been left in a bat-emblem drawn with blood. He did not fully understand the label, 'Playtime with the Babies,' but all educated guesses pointed towards ill omens. But he would not know for sure until he made it back to the base.
Or passed a television screen.
Or picked up any civilian radio chatter in his comm link.
The following few months were going to be... eventful, to say the least.