The rain showed no sign of letting up. The clouds overhead were even darker, and the many bodies lying around them only deepened Su Ming’s strange feelings.

  It was a mix of exhiration and relief, like being freed from some invisible chain. He wanted to talk to Cindy, share the rush, but she was focused entirely on the mission, not even responding to his jokes.

  Just like the Joker once said, a person, a city—if you want to plunge it into chaos and madness, all it takes is a little push from behind. He had pushed Harley, pushed Two-Face, and now Su Ming was the one being pushed.

  After the carnage, he felt fantastic. It was like downing a cold beer on a scorching summer day. His body, every cell, was alive with joy.

  He gnced at the countless corpses behind him, their eyes wide open in death, yet Cindy didn’t notice his odd reaction. She was already searching for the building’s entrance.

  The building where Harley was holed up had the same nonsensical feel. The rge door facing the street? Painted on. Behind it was just a thick wall of red brick.

  “Well, no door… Guess we’ll climb up the wall,” Cindy said, pulling a rope and grappling hook from her belt. She’d only come to talk to Harley, so she wasn’t pnning on making things too intense—breaking in through windows just wasn’t the “guest” vibe.

  Su Ming snapped back to reality, assessing the building. His experience told him right away—Harley wasn’t the only one inside.

  “Let’s go, but be careful. You never know what kind of lunatic’s hiding in a madman’s house.”

  They tossed their grappling hooks, the hooks securing themselves firmly at the roof’s edge. Their upper body strength made the climb swift.

  The building’s function was a mystery, but one thing was clear: the first and second floors had their windows sealed shut. Only the third floor had a rickety lookout ptform, probably where the circus freaks used to shoot at pedestrians or each other.

  A quick flip, and Su Ming nded on the ptform, rain pelting down, making everything chaotic. The sound of his feet hitting the ground was drowned out by the storm.

  Cindy reached the top with him, her bck-and-yellow mask meeting his as they exchanged a brief nod.

  “Crack!” Su Ming kicked open the window, his strength sending the frame and gss flying inside. They entered, guns drawn, scanning the area.

  “Clear.”

  Su Ming stretched his shoulder; the building had electricity, so the yout was clear.

  It felt like they were in a shabby college dorm—long hallway, doors to small rooms on both sides. Dust and trash covered the floor. God knows how long it had been since anyone cleaned it. Water from their soaked clothes quickly turned into puddles.

  “These freaks don’t shower?” Cindy asked, wrinkling her nose. The helmet’s gas mask function didn’t help with the smell.

  The masks they wore were specially designed. Smells were essential to combat, so the filters were more expensive and finely tuned, unlike regur ones.

  Su Ming grimaced at the smell. It was something like rancid slop, but his attention was on the stairs ahead.

  “Forget the smell. Let’s head upstairs and find Harley.”

  “Wait, there’s a trap.”

  Cindy pointed at the corner of the stairs where a faintly glowing fishing line was strung. Su Ming approached and moved some trash aside, revealing the fishing line connected to a grenade.

  The grenade was custom, bright red instead of the usual military green. A big smiley face was painted on it with white paint. Cssic Joker handiwork.

  Yeah, this was just another one of their twisted games—self-harm contests, or murder races. What they were about to witness was the infamous “ughing bomb,” a show where they’d blow someone up and ugh hysterically at their own madness.

  “No good! Take cover!”

  Su Ming reacted immediately. When you pull a prank, of course, you have to watch the victims squirm.

  With that grenade staring them down, it was clear the circus freaks were close.

  Sure enough, as soon as Su Ming finished speaking, the hallway erupted with grotesque ughter. Crazies, with distorted clown makeup, charged at them, arms filing and cackling like maniacs.

  Cindy and Su Ming weren’t about to welcome them with open arms. As the freaks came charging out, bullets and explosives started flying their way.

  Su Ming ducked behind the corner of the stairs, while Cindy vaulted through the window again, nding on a wooden ptform built outside.

  The explosions came fast, and Su Ming felt like he’d been thrown into a popcorn maker, the deafening bsts shaking his eardrums. The air around him turned into a tempest. Strong gusts from the explosions pushed him, but he gripped the stair rail tightly, preventing himself from being blown away. He saw bomb fragments, some still with Joker’s ridiculous smile, ricochet off his shoulder pads, sparking as they flew.

  The circus freaks weren’t phased. The explosion had killed some of their own, but they just ughed harder. They thrived on the chaos. Like engines running on blood—either theirs or someone else’s. Madness was their fuel.

  Su Ming shook his head, debris from the explosion still stuck to his helmet. The hallway ahead was now teeming with ughing clowns charging at them in bizarre, exaggerated movements.

  “There’s about forty of them, lightly armed with firearms and melee weapons. Looks like they’ve run out of explosives…” He peered out, mentally marking the positions of the enemies, tracking their movements, speed, and gear. A pn formed in his mind almost instantly.

  He pulled a smoke grenade from his uniform, tossing it out into the hallway, then quickly darted out of cover.

  The smoke filled the area, obscuring everything in white. The hallway lights cast wild, distorted shadows. The clowns scrambled, bumping into each other, confused and disoriented.

  That was Su Ming’s cue. He pulled out his shotgun and dove into the smoke.

  Cindy, still outside, knew that everyone in the smoke—except her—was an enemy.

  Having let go of his hesitations, Su Ming no longer held back. With the sound of thunderous gunfire, the smoke was lit up by the explosive fshes.

  …

  “Not bad. Forty-two in six seconds. Guess I’m the better version of me from another world,” Su Ming said, wiping blood off his uniform.

  Cindy hopped through the window and perched on the sill, pretending to check her watch. She didn’t need to; her super brain kept track of every second.

  Su Ming was reloading, his clothes soaked in blood and gore. It was messy, but close-quarters combat had that effect—guts and blood everywhere. The shotgun had proven to be incredibly effective. One pull of the trigger, and multiple bodies would go flying.

  “These clowns really didn’t stand a chance,” Su Ming muttered as he wiped his hands on a colorful rag.

  “You had plenty of time to count, but maybe you should’ve shot first,” Cindy remarked, uninterested, walking up the stairs.

  “Well, at least throw me a smoke or ask how I’m doing afterward,” Su Ming grumbled, trailing behind.

  Cindy rolled her eyes. “You men and your vanity… How’re you holding up?”

  “I’m fine, thanks!” Su Ming snapped back, stuffing the cigar Cindy tossed him into his cigarette pack. “Besides, except for the random brain matter in my neck, and my chest feeling sticky, I’m all good.”

  “Pffft.” Cindy snorted dismissively. “You’re just like the others. Always obsessed with looking clean. I thought your world was supposed to be patriarchal.”

  Su Ming shrugged. “It is, but not everyone’s into blood baths. Though I do admit… I’ve developed a taste for bloody battles. How about you?”

  Cindy kept climbing. “We’re both the same person from different worlds. No need to expin the whole parallel universe thing. I like what you like.”

  She looked up at the fourth floor. “The pce’s quiet now, but I’ve been keeping an eye on it. Let’s just go check on Harley.”

  As they reached the fourth floor, Cindy motioned to the door. “Harley’s just above us, and there’s music coming from behind that door.”

  Su Ming hesitated. “That’s odd. With all the noise we made, she hasn’t reacted? Still dancing?”

  Cindy didn’t comment. In Gotham, you learned not to question what crazy people were doing.

  The door opened to a circus-themed nightclub, lights spinning wildly in time with the music. In the middle of the dance floor, Harley Quinn was alone, spinning around a steel pole in a surreal, fluid dance.

  Her sweat glittered as she twirled, her red and blue pigtails catching the light like flowers in bloom. She wasn’t in her usual costume but in a simple T-shirt and denim shorts, moving with the carefree joy of someone who felt like the world was hers.

  Cindy rolled her eyes. "What the hell? A grown woman pole dancing?"

  She nudged Su Ming, who seemed captivated by the sight. “Four o’clock on the couch. Someone’s watching.”

  Su Ming noticed, his eyes narrowing. There, sitting with their back to them on the high-backed couch, was someone—just a head bobbing to the beat.

  “Looks like Harley has a guest,” he murmured.

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