Harley Quinn.

John looked at the list the woman showed him on her iPad. He had no idea what the list was for and assumed it was a poll or some sort of market research. After a couple of seconds, he made his choice.

"Harley Quinn, I guess," John replied.

"Oh, an excellent choice, sir." The woman said enthusiastically, looking John up and down with an odd smile on her lips. "Everybody loves a bad girl, don't they? And you know what they say about the crazy ones?"

"Uh yeah, plus she's smoking hot," John agreed.

"She certainly is," The woman laughs. "I'm sure you'll have a lot of fun here this weekend with your choice. If you'd step into the entrance booth, please and welcome to X-con."

The woman stepped along the queue to the next person in the line before John thought to ask her exactly what his choice of character had to do with how much fun he might have at the convention. He looked after her for a second before he shrugged. He was at the front of the queue now, and there was a line of several doors in front of him through which he had seen those in front of him in the queue exit. John wondered for a moment which door he should choose, and then a screen on one just to his left lit up with the name Harley Quinn. He walked forward and opened it and stepped through.

John found himself in a cubicle a few feet square with a second door on the opposite side from which he had entered. There was a loud pinging chime as he closed the door behind him, and a plastic box slid out from a chute onto a shelf to one side of the cubicle. John picked up the box and saw it was labelled Harley Quinn on its lid. He was now thoroughly confused by the focus on the character he had chosen from the woman's list.

Taking the couple of steps to cross the cubicle, John tried the door and found it unexpectedly locked. He turned around, meaning to ask someone for an explanation of the admittance process. The door through which he had entered was locked as well, trapping him inside the cubicle. Before he could call out, there was a hum of air from above his head and looking up he saw a pink mist descending from a grille in the ceiling which rapidly filled the confined interior of the booth.

The pink mist smelt and tasted sweet and vaguely fruity as he breathed it in. John's vision blurred, and he felt weak and dizzy, and he began to panic, realising he was being affected by some sort of **** gas. He banged weakly on the door with his fist a couple of times, but then stopped as he saw his fist begin to transform before his eyes. His hand seemed to shrink, becoming slender, and the dark hairs on his forearm receded to leave his skin smooth and flawless. The sleeve of his jacket slid down his wrist and over his hand as his body shrunk, and a moment later he had to grab the waistband of his jeans as they began to slide down his hips.

"Whadda fug?" John gasped, thinking he must be hallucinating from whatever **** the pink mist he was inhaling was. "Hey, my voice!"

John's voice was now a had a high pitched nasally whine to it. Undoubtedly feminine and bizarrely accented as if he had been born and raised in Brooklyn despite the fact that he had never even visited the area. He turned quickly to try the other door again and felt the swish of long hair over his shoulders and the sides of his face. He pushed the overlong sleeves up his slender arms and took hold of his hair and pulled it forward to examine it. The hair was platinum blonde with red highlights on one side of his head and blue on the other.

"Jeezus, whadda fug youse do ta me?" The voice that John now recognised as Harley Quinn's exclaimed.