Marco woke up to the persistent throb of pain in his side.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.
Fuck it. I'm too fragile for this city.
The ache had been reminding him of that all night, breaking his sleep again and again. The system still had unused cards. Part of him wanted to roll the dice and see what he'd get. Maybe he'd get lucky. Maybe something like invulnerability, or enhanced healing.
But that was wishful thinking. Gambling was never reliable.
He scratched his head and focused on the system notification blinking in the corner of his vision, pulling up the details of the new skill.
[Infinite Vitality:
Your control over your body's vital energy has reached the level of Initial Understanding.]
[Progress Missions:
Deep Breathing: 0/1000
Requirement: Undistracted focus / Calm and centered]
[Complete all missions to increase skill level. With each breath, you can feel the flow of energy through your body. Your physical constitution has been slightly improved. Your recovery from injuries and illnesses has been marginally enhanced. As long as you keep breathing, you'll live to see old age]
Slightly improved...
He reached down and prodded the bruise on his stomach.
"FUCK!"
Pain exploded across his abdomen like someone had stuck a hot poker in his kidney. He curled up instinctively.
Okay. So "slightly improved" didn't mean "instantly healed."
He checked the clock. 8:47 AM.
Shit. His shift had started at eight.
He rolled out of bed, threw on his uniform, and stumbled downstairs to his car.
---
Marco made it to the precinct by 9:15, which was honestly impressive considering Gotham traffic. He parked in his usual spot, grabbed his coffee from the passenger seat, and headed inside.
The moment he stepped through the precinct doors, he knew something was wrong.
There was a crowd in the lobby. Not unusual, people were always hanging around the station, filing reports, waiting for bail hearings, complaining about parking tickets. But this crowd was a bit different. Officers, civilians, even a few desk captains had formed a loose semicircle around the conference room, everyone craning their necks to see inside. And standing in the middle of the crowd, looking harried and slightly panicked, was Bob.
He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the annoyed looks and muttered complaints, until he reached the front. Through the conference room window, he could see two figures: Edward, and a young woman in a white coat.
Edward looked furious. His face was flushed red, his glasses askew, his chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.
The woman was talking.
"... not questioning your intelligence, Mr. Nygma. On the contrary, I believe your IQ far exceeds that of ordinary people. But it's precisely this high intelligence that may conceal certain patterns in your social interactions..."
BANG.
The conference room door slammed open. Edward stormed out.
"If you can't solve the riddle, you attack the person who posed it?!" he shouted over his shoulder. "This is the worst manifestation of anti-intellectualism!"
The woman in the white coat followed him out, adjusting her glasses. She was young, mid-twenties, maybe, with sharp, delicate features and bright blue eyes behind gold-rimmed frames. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore a white doctor's coat over tailored slacks and black heeled boots. Professional. Put-together. And completely oblivious to the fact that she'd just pissed off one of the most brilliant, and unstable, minds in the GCPD.
"Mr. Nygma, please calm down!" she called after him. "We're just conducting an analysis!"
Edward whirled on her.
"Calm down? You're accusing me of having a personality disorder!"
"I'm not accusing you of anything. Your obsession with communicating through complex riddles is itself a defense mechanism. It's a classic symptom of obsessive-compulsive personality disorder—"
"Ed! Ed!" Marco pushed through the crowd and grabbed Edward's arm, pulling him back before he could do something stupid. "We all know there's nothing wrong with you."
He turned slightly, positioning himself between Edward and the woman, and dropped his voice.
"There are a lot of quacks out there these days. Maybe she just read a couple of textbooks, memorized some terminology, and now she thinks she's Freud. Don't let her get to you."
"Officer," the woman said from behind him. "You do realize that even when you whisper, your voice carries, right?"
Marco turned around slowly, forcing a smile.
"Sorry. I was just, you know, trying to defuse the situation." He extended his hand. "Captain Marco Vitale, East End Precinct. You can call me Marco."
The woman lifted her chin slightly and reached out to shake his hand.
"Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Gotham University, Department of Psychology—"
Marco's brain short-circuited.
Harley Quinn.
He jerked his hand back like he'd just touched a live wire, taking an instinctive step backward. His shoulder collided with Edward, who stumbled forward "Hey!"
Dr. Quinzel's eyebrows rose. "Captain, you seem... afraid of me?"
"No. Absolutely not." Marco's voice came out higher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "It's Friday, right? We don't need to make a big deal out of this. Anna?"
"Here, sir!" Anna appeared at his elbow, looking confused.
"Take Dr. Quinzel to the break room, please. We'll arrange for officers to come in for consultations shortly."
He grabbed Edward by the elbow and dragged him toward the exit, ignoring the confused murmurs from the crowd.
Bob caught up with him in the hallway leading to the forensics building.
"What was that about?" He looked baffled. "A beautiful, well-educated woman shows up offering free psychological counseling, and you run away like she's got the plague?"
"It's complicated."
"Complicated how?" Bob's expression shifted. "You're not... I mean, you're not gay, are you? Because if you are, that's fine. The department doesn't discriminate—"
"I'm not gay," Marco said flatly.
"Then what's the problem? She's smart, attractive, and probably has money. And she's offering her services for free. Most guys would kill for that kind of attention."
Marco rubbed his face. How could he explain this? That Dr. Harleen Quinzel would meet a psychotic clown in Arkham Asylum and transform into Harley Quinn, one of Gotham's most dangerous and unpredictable criminals?
He couldn't. So he went with the next best thing.
"I just don't think it's a good idea to mix work and... I've got a bad feeling about her, okay? Call it cop instinct."
Bob stared at him for a long moment, then sighed.
"You know what? Fine. Your love life is your business. Just don't let it interfere with the job." He turned and headed back toward his office, muttering under his breath about millennials and missed opportunities.
Marco watched him go, then turned to Edward, who was still fuming.
"Come on, Ed. Let's get you back to the lab before you have an aneurysm."
---
The forensics building was quieter than the main precinct, which Marco appreciated. His head was starting to pound, and the last thing he needed was more chaos.
He steered Edward into his workspace and closed the door behind them.
"She comes by once a week. You can avoid her. Just stay in here when she's around."
"Once a week?" Edward looked horrified. "You're telling me I have to deal with that woman's pseudoscientific drivel once a week?"
"Or you could quit." Marco leaned against the doorframe, trying to take the weight off his injured side. "But then who's going to help me solve murders?"
That got a reluctant smile out of Edward.
"Fine. But if she tries to analyze me again, I'm not responsible for my actions."
"Fair enough."
Marco left Edward to his work and headed back to the main building. He needed to make sure Dr. Quinzel stayed far away from the forensics lab. And from him. And ideally from everyone else who might end up becoming a supervillain someday.
He found Anna in the break room, where Dr. Quinzel was setting up her materials.
"Anna, do me a favor," Marco said quietly. "Keep an eye on Dr. Quinzel. Make sure she stays in this area. Don't let her wander into the forensics building."
Anna gave him a curious look but nodded. "Yes, sir."
He left... then, still uneasy after thinking it over, turned and ran back. The next twenty minutes were spent setting up what he privately thought of as the "Harley Quinn Containment Protocol." He had Darnell string up caution tape, creating a direct path from the lobby entrance to the break room, bypassing the forensics building entirely.
Then he went to the logistics office, grabbed a large signboard, and wrote in bold letters: "Dr. Harleen Quinzel of Gotham University is providing free psychological counseling to the general public at the East End Precinct. All are welcome. Participants who leave positive feedback will receive a complimentary bag of pasta."
He propped the sign up on the sidewalk outside the precinct, dusted off his hands.
"That should keep her busy."
He turned to head back inside when a car horn beeped behind him. He looked back to see Gordon sitting in a patrol car, waving him over. Bullock was behind the wheel. He pulled up to the curb, and Gordon climbed out.
"We need your help with something."
Marco blinked. "You're asking me for help? Don't you have like half of Major Crimes working for you right now?"
"That's the problem." Gordon ran a hand through his hair. "Headquarters wants me fully focused on the Black Mask case. I've got too many other cases piling up, and I can't handle them all."
Marco felt a flicker of respect for Gordon. The guy could've easily passed everything off to someone else, but instead, he was trying to juggle it all himself.
"Alright. What's the case? Let's see if I can help."
---
Meanwhile, in the Batcave...
Light poured through the towering Gothic window frames. Selina woke to the deep throb of pain in her thigh. She was lying on a metal cot that was far from comfortable, a thin blanket draped over her. Her wounded leg was bandaged.
She shifted slightly.
"If I were you, I wouldn't move."
The voice came from the shadows, processed through a modulator that stripped it of any warmth. A tall figure turned from a bank of glowing monitors, stepping into the light. He was almost entirely black, blending with the darkness except for the white lenses of his cowl that fixed on her.
"Oh?" Her lips curled into a faint smile. "Is that medical advice, doctor... or a guard's warning?"
He moved closer.
"The bullet passed through the outer thigh muscle. No bone damage. You were lucky."
"Lucky?" Selina let out a hoarse laugh. "I thought it was your skill."
Batman said nothing.
Selina's eyes swept the cavern.
"This place... It's more human than I imagined. At least this cot is more comfortable than a holding cell."
Her gaze returned to him.
"Do you always bring injured strays back to your lair?"
"Only the ones who cause too much trouble."
"Trouble." Selina's smile widened. "Black Mask shot me. I assume you saw that?"
"I did."
"So... you were worried? Worried that your rival would turn into a corpse before you could collect your payment?"
"Gotham doesn't need another body."
"How noble." Selina tried to sit up. Pain lanced through her leg, but she hid it well, her expression barely flickering. "Well, thanks for the medical attention. And the bed. But I think it's time I left."
She swung her legs over the side of the cot, her good foot touching the cold stone floor.
"You'll need this." Batman set a duffel bag with a bat emblem beside the cot. "Four hundred thousand. Unmarked bills."
Selina's eyes flicked to the bag, then back to him.
"You always pay your debts this quickly?"
"You completed the job."
She stood, balancing on one leg, one hand braced against the cot's edge. The thin blanket slipped off, revealing her damaged suit. She looked fragile and fierce at the same time, like a flower growing through concrete.
"Your leg won't make it to the city," Batman said.
"I've been through worse." Selina grabbed the duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Don't tell me you're planning to keep me here."
Batman didn't move. He just watched her struggle to maintain her balance.
"You'll get caught."
"Maybe. Maybe not." Selina took a step toward the tunnel leading out of the cave. She paused at the edge of the light, not turning around. "Black Mask's real name is Roman Sionis. If you want to find him, you'd better keep an eye on me. I'm going to hunt him down."
And then she was gone, disappearing into the darkness so quickly it was like she'd never been there at all.
Batman stood alone in the cavern. After a long moment, he walked to the cot and bent down, picking something up from the floor. A small, sharp claw from her suit. The metal edge pressed against his glove.
He looked toward the tunnel where she'd vanished.
---
Under Gotham's night sky, a lithe figure leaped between buildings. She blended into the lights and shadows of the sleepless city, just another ghost in Gotham's endless darkness.
From a high rooftop, she stared toward the harbor district.
Roman Sionis. Do you know that cats never forget?