Smooth Criminals: Harley x Joker Origin Story

Chapter 4: The Joker and his Harlequin

The acid swirled around me, wrapping my skin, flooding my mouth and nose and eyes. It pierced my flesh, peeling it away, eating me alive.

I gagged. A bubble escaped my lips and floated into the yellow murk. Something in the back of my mind told me that was upwards. I swam desperately after it. White spots bloomed in my vision.

My head broke the surface. I tried to yell for Jay but couldn't move my tongue.

I'm alive, I kept thinking. Jay could be alive, too.

I paddled blindly, feeling nothing beyond my stinging flesh, finding the edge of the vat when I bumped into it. Somehow, I found the strength to heave myself out.

Was I on fire? Was my skin sizzling like bacon in a pan? I wondered if anything would be left of me — if I would become a pile of ash, or less.

But a long moment passed, and I stayed conscious.

That stupid girl. I should have splattered her brains across the wall the moment she spoke. If not for her, Jay wouldn't have had to shoot the assault rifle so recklessly. We would still be upstairs — maybe with a hole in the wall, but definitely not with one in the floor.

I became aware of the wailing alarm, and the feel of the cold cement beneath my skin. The burning subsided. I opened my eyes to a warehouse-like room yawning before me, full of vats and barrels and ominous warning labels that made me think no living thing should be here without a hazmat suit.

My eyes locked onto Jay. He was on all fours, retching. Alive. He caught his breath and scrambled towards the rifle that did this to us.

I sat up, trembling, and cast around for another weapon. Several littered the floor — including my pistol. I heaved myself to my feet and snatched it.

My clothes had mostly been eaten. Rags hung from my body. Beneath, my skin was intact, but pale. More than pale. The acid had bleached my skin.

I didn't have time to panic about that. Above, the police had arrived on the third floor, shouting. Someone silenced the alarm.

"We gotta go," I said, my voice a croak. I pulled Jay by the armpit.

Jay raised the assault rifle with a grunt and blasted a hole in the wall. The recoil made him buckle over. I held onto him, refusing to let him fall again.

We ran to the bus-sized window to the outside world, stopping at the edge. We were two storeys up. The wind billowed, whirling under my torn clothes and over my damp skin. I shivered.

Overhead, the police shouted. They wanted us to surrender.

Jay reached for my hand. I linked our fingers and squeezed.

An apple tree grew below us. We aimed for it, and jumped.

"North wing," a cop shouted. "They're headed—"

My stomach swooped at the free fall. After the pool of acid, the tree branches felt like a foam pit. We shinnied down and sprinted into the darkness.

The chain-link fence ran beside us, topped with a coil of barbed wire. I began to wonder how we would get out when I saw an opening.

I skidded to a stop.

"Puddin'! Here!"

The fence curled at the bottom, a hole big enough for a dog. Jay dropped and pushed the rifle through, then crawled after it. I followed.

We ran along the back of the research facility, staying away from the main roads. Sirens split the air.

A drunk man and woman in the alley called to us as we approached. They shut up when they saw our weapons.