Harley couldn't remember how many nights she'd spent reveling like this.

  A few days ago, her sweetest little pudding had sent her a letter from Arkham. The envelope was covered in a jumble of incomprehensible symbols and markings, with red smears that looked suspiciously like lipstick prints—bright, almost blood-like.

  But Harley knew it was real. It was their secret code, a way only the two of them could communicate—like a password, a private message, a shared secret between them. Every time she thought about it, her heart swelled with sweetness.

  When the terrified guard handed her the letter and screamed while running out of the circus grounds, Harley beamed with joy and pressed the thin piece of paper to her chest, spinning in circles around the room, lost in her happiness.

  The Jester had been in Arkham for over six months now, and Harley missed her terribly.

  Opening the letter was like receiving a Christmas gift when she was a child, like the first time she tasted chocote, or the thrill of slipping on high heels for the first time.

  This joy made her forget all about using a giant hammer to smash the messenger’s skull. Originally, she’d pnned to disguise herself as a guard and sneak into Arkham to rescue her friend.

  One hand gently twisted a strand of her hair, bashful like a lovestruck girl, while the other—out of nowhere—pulled out a kitchen knife, eagerly tearing open the envelope.

  But sadly, that joy was short-lived. As soon as she read the letter, her happiness turned into a frustrated scream.

  The Jester had written:

  "Dear little pumpkin, how have you been? I have some exciting news to share. The world’s about to end! We’re all gonna die! Aren’t you excited?"

  "Oh, death... such a beautiful word. I’ve already picked out my outfit. Ready to meet my date!"

  "Today I ate a shriveled-up roast goose. What about you?"

  "My dear Mr. Soup Spoon hasn’t been talking to me much tely."

  "Before you die, could you bring Batgirl to see me? I’d love to die with her. You can take a cab home by yourself."

  "Yep, that’s all. Hurry up. Mwah!"

  There was no sign of the Jester’s signature ugh on the paper, but from the hasty scrawl and nonsensical ramblings, Harley could tell it was still her.

  Scattered among the messy handwriting were bizarre doodles—creepy little faces that seemed to belong to her, and dried-up streaks that looked like snot or saliva, evidence that the Jester had been in a particurly good mood while writing.

  But Harley wasn’t in a good mood at all.

  Her eagerly awaited letter turned out like this? It left her feeling heartbroken.

  Sure, the world was going to end, and she could enjoy watching the chaos unfold... that part made her a little happy...

  In short, her emotions were a complicated mess.

  The Jester, of course, was still obsessed with the Bat, while Harley felt like nothing more than a chauffeur. They’d promised to stay together forever—little pumpkin and little pudding, side by side—but now, Harley felt alone.

  Laughing maniacally, she wreaked havoc inside her house—setting fires, smashing things, venting her frustration. But in the end, she decided to do as the Jester asked. After all, they were best friends, right?

  Harley had never doubted her. After all, the end of the world? That’s nothing. It had to be true.

  Not just her—the circus was sent out, too. They searched every corner of Gotham for traces of the Bat.

  But their usual methods failed. No matter how much chaos they stirred up, the only thing they attracted were those boring cops. Batgirl didn’t even show up once.

  For three nights straight, Harley went out every evening to cause trouble like she was punching a clock, only to come back exhausted before sunrise. The Bat, though? Nowhere. Not even a shadow.

  "Maybe she’s on vacation," Harley mused. "I’d go to Paris or somewhere fun myself."

  She left signs on rooftops, drawn in bright, cartoonish arrows pointing toward her pce, knowing the Bat would pick up her scent.

  Then, she'd return to her ir, waiting for the Bat to show up.

  At first, she just sat around reading while waiting. But that was too easy to fall asleep, so she stepped it up. The next night, she drank and read.

  The third night? Drinking and dancing.

  Slowly, she forgot her original purpose. Her nightly parties became a new habit—a celebration for the impending destruction of Earth.

  But the circus members? They weren't interested in joining her wild revelries. They didn’t like getting hit in the head with a giant hammer.

  That left Harley feeling lonely, so she called her best friend over to keep her company for a 24-hour rave.

  Meanwhile, in Arkham, the Jester was losing her mind, unaware of what was really happening in the outside world. Why hadn’t Harley brought the Bat yet? She cackled madly in her room, her ughter echoing through the walls.

  A few days ter, a mysterious tape was taken from her room by a guard, passed along, and eventually nded in Deathstroke's hands. Cindy was given the task of finding the Bat, setting the stage for the events leading up to her meeting with Su Ming.

  ...

  Harley, breathless and holding a steel pipe, locked eyes with the person on the couch. They both broke into ughter, and Harley giggled so hard her legs gave out, stumbling toward the couch as if she wanted to pyfully wrestle.

  But then, she noticed someone else in the room. In the dim, psychedelic lighting, a shadow loomed—armored, bck and yellow, the most infamous color pattern in nature for warning signs.

  This person had been silently watching them from the darkness. The red eye on his helmet gleamed ominously, and Harley couldn’t help but let out an involuntary gasp.

  "...Oh no."

  Yep, when the world-renowned assassin Deathstroke shows up at your house, it’s never a good sign.

  "Deathstroke? What are you doing in my house?" Harley shook her head, her face flushed from too much drinking.

  "I need an answer to a question. Maybe you can help me," Cindy didn’t waste any time, cutting straight to the point. "Where’s the Bat?"

  "Everyone’s looking for the Bat. What’s so special about that damn Bat...?" Harley didn’t answer, instead crawling over to the couch to seek comfort.

  Su Ming stepped out from behind Cindy, speaking softly. "Looks like the Jester sent her to search, too. Probably in the same situation we are."

  "Can’t we just storm Arkham and ask her directly?" Cindy frowned beneath her mask, frustrated. If the Jester knew, why not just ask her?

  "No need. The Jester doesn’t know. My earlier guess was wrong," Su Ming calmly rejected his earlier theory. He watched Harley roll around on the couch, eyes distant. "If your mission was unclear or you couldn’t make sense of it, then maybe the Jester meant it that way. But Harley’s someone she trusts. Now, even Harley doesn’t know, which means the Jester’s task was just as ambiguous as ours—like finding a needle in a haystack."

  Cindy nodded slightly. "So, you came to Harley first to see if the Jester knew anything about the Bat?"

  That compliment didn’t make Su Ming proud. After all, things were at an impasse now.

  In the comics Su Ming had read, there was no mention of Blythe Wayne going missing. The panels only showed her hiding in a secret base, watching the Sea Queen’s nding, and deciding the peace talks were a ruse. She then ambushed Queen Arthur, setting off a chain of events.

  But Cindy had already been to the Batcave. It wasn’t there. Where could this secret base be?

  No clue. Everyone says the clever rabbit has three dens, but Batgirl is a lot trickier than a rabbit.

  If they waited for Blythe to pop up, it’d be too te. Su Ming had no idea how she’d blended into a million-strong army and killed Arthur.

  In other words, even though he knew Atntis would attack Paradise Isnd, he had no idea when or how. Blocking Batgirl in Gotham was his best bet.

  Harley suddenly remembered she had a Deathstroke situation to deal with. She scrambled up from the couch, her hair a wild mess, shouting, "I don't know where Batman is! You're in the wrong pce! ... Wait, why are there two Deathstrokes?" She rubbed her eyes and looked up again, but yep, still two. Her jaw dropped. "Either I've been drinking too little, or too much... oh no, I completely forgot Ms. J asked me to find Batman! She's going to hate me!"

  It was like the fog of alcohol lifted all at once, and Harley realized what she'd been waiting for all this time—it wasn’t for partying or the end of the world, or some chaotic human drama. She’d been waiting for Batman to come find her.

  "Emmm... did Batman actually come by…?" She cupped her chin, tilting her head, trying to remember. But she'd been having too much fun, spinning like a little top on the dance floor. Who had time to notice if Batgirl had shown up?

  "Hey, you could’ve reminded me!" Harley muttered, still lost in thought, and spped the person lounging on the couch, looking more frustrated than angry.

  “You never told me anything about this, how could I remind you?” The voice from the couch was a mix of incredulous and amused, with just the right amount of sultriness—there was no mistaking it, this was one confident, fiery dy. The voice even carried a sweet, teasing undertone.

  Cindy leaned in close to Su Ming’s ear and whispered, “If things go south, we bail. I didn’t bring any weed killer this time.”

  But the person on the couch jumped up like she’d been zapped by electricity, spinning Harley around in her arms and staring down the two at the door with a cold, unblinking expression.

  Now Su Ming could finally see what she was up against: the woman was wearing nothing but leaves. Not even a bikini—just some strategically pced vine-covered foliage to cover the essentials. It was like Mother Nature herself had given her underwear and said, “That’s all you need.”

  Her slim arms, toned legs, ft stomach, and smooth back were all on full dispy, with purple shimmering eyeshadow and lip gloss catching the light. Her long, fiery red hair cascaded in natural waves, dotted with little flower petals. Every inch of her screamed temptation.

  It was Poison Ivy—Harley's best friend, a renowned botanist, a die-hard environmentalist, and Gotham's very own chaotic nightmare.

  Calling her an environmentalist didn’t quite do her justice. More like a pnt supremacist—she didn’t care how polluted the air was, as long as it didn’t mess with her precious pnts. She didn’t care how dirty the water got, as long as it didn’t harm her flowers. If Gotham could explode in a nuclear bst, but her pnts were safe? No problem. She’d be fine.

  Unlike other psychos, Ivy was a straight-up superpowered individual. She could create, cultivate, and control pnts to do her bidding—giant vines to smash buildings, deadly flowers spreading toxic pollen across the city, or tiny, lethal spores to infect and kill.

  She wasn’t just a viliness, though. Ivy was brilliant, with multiple PhDs, and her entire body was venomous. Her bodily fluids had different toxic effects: they could control minds, drive people mad, or even put them to sleep in a sweet, deadly slumber. She had been transformed by pnts and toxins, granting her a rapid healing factor. Even a fatal wound? Bury her in soil, water her, and she’d regenerate.

  In the comics, even Superman from alternate Earths had been under her control. The only one immune to her mind-altering toxins in the multiverse? Batman, from the New 52 Earth. His strong will protected him from Ivy’s influence, though his human body couldn’t defend against all of her poisons. There had been numerous times in the comics when Batman was poisoned by her, only to be saved by Alfred or Robin with an antidote.

  In this universe, though, things weren’t looking too great for Cindy, who was now very aware of Ivy’s presence and power. Maybe bailing was the best option.

  When Cindy had mentioned "weed killer," it was the equivalent of calling a monk a "bald donkey"—a little too on the nose, given the current situation.

  “Did you hear that?” Cindy whispered, surprised, her hand subtly shifting toward her weapon.

  “All the lights around here, the ones above and beside us? They're all controlled by Ivy’s vines. She uses them to pick up the tiniest vibrations, including anything we say.” Su Ming didn’t reach for his weapon, though. Instead, he stepped in front of Cindy, holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. He gave Ivy and Harley a calm look and then expined to Cindy, "The other Deathstroke was right—sound is just another form of vibration."

  Ivy rexed a little, a few vines retracting from her body, clearly not wanting to fight Deathstroke. After all, two Deathstrokes? Yeah, no thanks.

  “Our employer’s also Ms. J, so we’re all after the same thing—finding Batman. Why don’t we sit down and have a snack?” Su Ming offered, hoping to calm the tension. The mission had stopped being about the jester and more about saving Earth-11, but there was no need to expin that to Harley and Ivy.

  His mind raced, and then he quickly took off his helmet.

  Harley and Poison Ivy might not be a problem for him, but they were certainly a threat to Cindy, and their methods of attack were beyond what his helmet could block. By revealing his face, he hoped to shift their focus and de-escate the situation.

  Because here, in Earth-11, he was pretty sure he was the only male supervilin around.

  “Male?!”

  “Male?” Sure enough, both Harley and Ivy gasped when they saw his face.

  “Hmph.” Cindy scoffed, pulling off her own helmet and stepping up to Su Ming, standing side-by-side with him. Aside from their gender, they were almost identical: the same one-eyed gre, the same armor and weapons, the same aesthetic sense.

  Except for their approach to things.

  Harley plopped down on the couch with a dramatic sigh, eyeing Cindy and then Su Ming with wide curiosity. “Alright, now we’re actually interested in your story. As for finding Batman—if we can’t find him, oh well. Not like I’m gonna mold a Batman out of cy and send it to Ms. J, right?”