A dim, eerie glow bathed the underground lair, the monitors casting flickering shadows against the brick walls. Rows of stolen tech, stacks of cash, and stolen paintings littered the space like trophies from a war only they were fighting. The sound of Harley twirling in her chair, her boots kicking against the desk, filled the air while Joker sat hunched over the keyboard, scrolling through line after line of encrypted government files.
Harley blew a bubble with her gum, watching it pop before resting her chin on her palm. "Okay, so, we got a couple options here, Mistah J. We could leak it all at once—turn the city into a madhouse in one night. That'd be fun."
Joker, eyes glued to the screen, barely reacted. "Predictable."
"Orrr," she continued, tapping her fingers against the desk, "we could do it little by little, drip-feed it to the press, make all the rich folk sweat. But that'd take forever. I don't got patience for that."
Joker finally leaned back, stretching his arms, his signature grin slowly creeping onto his face. "We need somethin' better than just clickin' 'send,' doll. Somethin' with a little… flair."*
Harley snapped her fingers. "Oh! We could write it on a blimp and fly it over Gotham!"
Joker tilted his head, considering it for a beat before shaking his head. "Nah. Too easy to shoot down."
Harley groaned and flopped dramatically onto the desk. "Ughhh! There's gotta be a way to make this entertaining."
Silence fell over them, all but the soft hum of the computers. Joker tapped a long finger against his temple, deep in thought.
Then—
Harley shot up in her seat, eyes wide, lips curling into a mischievous smirk. "Wait a sec—wait wait wait. What if… we make 'em work for it?"
Joker's grin widened. "Go on, sugar."
Harley spun around in her chair, giggling. "We do a bank robbery. But not just any bank robbery. We take the files, hide 'em somewhere, and turn Gotham into a freakin' game show. Riddles, clues, a lil' dash of murder—" she gestured wildly, "—and the whole city's gotta play if they wanna find the truth."
Joker exhaled through his teeth, nodding slowly. "Now that's a show I'd watch."
He stood, clapping his hands together. "Ooh, I like this! A race against the clock! Gotham's finest scrambling to find the files before we blow it all to hell! Batman fuming 'cause he knows it's a trap, but he's gotta play anyway." He grabbed Harley's face, pressing a rough kiss against her lips before pulling back, eyes alight with excitement. "Brilliant, my queen."
Harley giggled, pulling her bat off the table. "Oh, we gotta get this just right, Puddin'. Big flashy clues, decoys, maybe even a nice lil' bomb on a timer to keep things spicy."
Joker cackled. "Timers! YES! Pressure makes people stupid!"
Harley nodded. "And for the clues? Oh, we gotta get real creative. Maybe a few rhymes, maybe a few body parts—" she wiggled her fingers, "—somethin' that screams 'Joker and Harley were here!'"
Joker turned back to the screen, pulling up the city's bank layouts, fingers drumming against the desk. "Gotham National has the files locked up in their underground vault." His eyes flickered to Harley. "How do ya feel about a little… demolition?"
Harley smirked, swinging her bat over her shoulder. "Puddin', you had me at 'little.'"
They both started laughing, the sound echoing through their lair like a twisted symphony. The game was set. The pieces were moving. And Gotham had no idea what was coming next.
The elevator hummed softly as it ascended from the underground lair to their penthouse, a hidden sanctuary nestled in Gotham's skyline. The doors slid open with a ding, revealing marble floors polished to perfection, velvet furniture draped in opulence, and massive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city like a painting. The scent of expensive cologne and faint traces of gunpowder lingered in the air—home.
Harley stepped out first, twirling on the balls of her feet, stretching her arms over her head with a satisfied sigh. "Ahhh, home sweet home!" she giggled, kicking off her boots and tossing them across the room. "Alright, Puddin', time to get all dolled up."
Joker followed behind, shrugging off his black button-up, leaving him in nothing but his pale, tattooed skin and gleaming silver chains. He stretched his arms with a smirk, cracking his neck. "Tonight's a big one, sugar. We gotta look the part."
Harley pouted playfully, slid over to him, running her fingers along his chest tattoos. "Ya always look good, though, Mistah J."
Joker hummed, lips twitching into a smirk. "Flatter me later, doll. We got a city to ruin."
Harley grinned, skipping toward their massive walk-in closet—though closet was putting it lightly. It was practically its own room, lined with extravagant outfits, rows of gleaming shoes, and shelves stacked with accessories, weapons mixed in like the world's most dangerous fashion collection.
She reached for one of her classic looks—the one that made Gotham tremble.
Her Daddy's Lil Monster shirt, slightly ripped but still holding its signature charm, slipped over her torso, hugging her curves just right. Next came the fishnet stockings—ripped, of course, 'cause what was a Harley Quinn outfit without a little bit of chaos? She paired it with her red and blue sequined shorts, yanking them up her hips with a little shimmy.
She grinned at herself in the mirror, adjusting her golden Yes, Sir and No, Sir cuffs before slipping on her signature choker.
"I almost forgot the best part!" she gasped, grabbing her gun holster and throwing it tight over her shoulders, securing her revolver in place. She then threw on her signature red and blue "Property of Joker" jacket.
Joker, meanwhile, leaned lazily against the closet door, watching with sharp, amused eyes as he twirled a gold chain between his fingers. He was already halfway dressed—black slacks fitting perfectly against his frame, his signature purple crocodile trench coat draped lazily over his shoulders, gleaming without a single wrinkle. No shirt. No need. His tattoos told enough of a story.
"You're starin'," Harley teased, slipping into her killer high heels, red and blue to match her outfit.
Joker smirked, pushing off the doorframe and strolling up behind her, his hands resting lightly on her hips. "Hard not to when ya make gettin' dressed look so fun."
Harley giggled, adjusting her pigtails, giving him a cheeky wink in the mirror. "You ready, Puddin'?"
Joker reached past her, plucking his golden rings from a small velvet box, sliding them onto his fingers. Then he grabbed his gold-tipped cane, giving it a little twirl before resting it on his shoulder.
"I was born ready, sugar."
Harley clapped her hands, bouncing excitedly. "Ooooh, this is gonna be fun!"
They stepped out of the closet, a deadly duo dressed to kill. Joker adjusted his cuffs as they walked toward the penthouse's private elevator.
Harley pressed the button, glancing at Joker with a smirk. "Ya ever think Gotham's just too easy sometimes?"
Joker chuckled darkly, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open. "That's why we make it interesting, doll."
As the elevator began its descent, their reflections gleamed in the mirrored walls—two criminals dressed like royalty, ready to turn the city into their personal playground.
Tonight wasn't just about a bank robbery.
It was about the show.