Harley Quinn, Gotham's top-tier graduate in applied chaos theory

The night hung over Gotham like a bad hangover, full of shadows and shady characters hiding in the darkest corners. But who needed safety when you had Harley Quinn on the prowl?

With a resounding SLAM, Harley kicked open the door of the building, strolling in with that infamous mischievous grin plastered across her face, and her mallet casually slung behind her shoulders.

-Hey there, party people! Anyone in? Smugglers? Cutthroats? Revenant ninjas who want to genocide people 'cuz they're bonkers? Oh, I so hope it's the ninjas!-. She called out, her voice echoing through the seemingly deserted space. No one answered her enthusiastic greeting; it seemed like the joint was as empty as a bank on Joker's payday. This was, after all, one of the last Riddler's hideouts, picked clean after his dramatic takedown by the Bat.

-Oww!- She pouted. Harley pouted, disappointed by the lack of action. Undeterred, she glanced around, hoping to find something, anything, to make her night less of a snooze. Sure, the G.C.P.D had already combed through the place, but Harley had a knack for finding the overlooked gems.

"Really, someone should beef up security at Arkham. Uhh, Batman doesn't kill criminals and so they keep on killing!!!, yeah, sure, it would work also if they keep the cells locked. Anyway.".

She searched the entire building all night long, but nothing. Well, nothing except...

-A box. Mmm.- She shaked the little case, hearing some suspicious bumps from within. Her eyes lit up.

-It's not just a box, puddin'! It's a party in a box!- Harley exclaimed, her excitement building. Eager to crack the Riddler's puzzle, she mused: -Eddy, Eddy, Eddy, what's with the high-tech lock, huh? 'If you look for me, you'll never fo-' Yeah, yeah, whatever!-. With her trusty club, Harley went to town on the container, delivering blows with gleeful abandon until she heard a satisfying BIP. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, she flung the box open, only to find a surprising and underwhelming reveal.

A gun.

A toy gun?

-That's quite anticlimactic.- She commented, disappointment written all over her face. She then twirled the purple, sci-fi-shaped gun in her hand, examining it with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

-This looks more like a tool for Mr. J.-. Definitively not Edward's style, it had to be stolen from somewhere, and that sparked her interest. The burning question lingered: what did this peculiar contraption do?

As dawn approached, casting its pale light over Gotham's notorious skyline, Harley decided to continue her investigation at her own hideout. She ambled through the dark alleys, nonchalantly passing stray cats, the occasional bum, and even a pair of corpses with oddly reassembled limbs – just another typical night in Gotham City. Eventually, she reached her destination, a rusty shed on the outskirts, a temporary home she had claimed as her own. In a city where even the rent could drive you mad, a shed seemed like a cozy spot.

-Home sweet home!- She exclaimed, plopping down on the couch with a satisfied huff.

She glanced around the dimly lit space, almost expecting an unwelcome guest. But no, everything remained unchanged – her posters, the fridge, the vintage cathode ray tube TV. It was all just as she had left it.

So, here she was back with the problem that was afflicting her for weeks.

Harley Quinn was bored.

Ever since she broke up with the Joker and discovered she had something resembling a conscience, the thrill of smashing heads for the sheer joy of it had lost its appeal. Sure, she had never been the type to target some innocent civilian, but damn, now she needed a valid reason to start a fight. So, she constantly hoped for it to appear, and when it happened, sure, it was fun... but not that much.

She rubbed her face in frustration. The truth was, deep down, Harley Quinn yearned for something different, as the voice in her head that was Dr. Harleen Quinzel constantly reminded her.

She wanted to become a hero.

Sort of.

It's just, cheers sounded so much better than screams when you stroll around, you know? Yet, bridging the gap between being off the Bat's most-wanted list and donning a superhero cape seemed like an impossible leap. Besides, all that superhero code and morality was so lame. Choose between being a boy scout in tights like Superman or an edgy one in spandex like Batsy? No thanks.

-So, will you help me get out of this deadlock?- She asked for the gun. The gun remained ominously silent.

-Figured.-.

She scrutinized the mysterious weapon from different angles, deciding that the only way to unravel its purpose was to put it to the test. With a mischievous grin, she shouted: -Ya-ah!- and pulled the trigger, aiming point-blank at the old TV. A burst of light shot out, but the television remained unscathed. Perplexed, she turned it on, flipping through channels to ensure everything still worked.

-Argh! You're a tough one, huh, pudding?- She quipped, addressing the unresponsive firearm. Maybe it needed a living target to reveal its true potential. So, her mind was now in a serious debate.

Conscience-Harley warned against it, emphasizing the potential danger to others. Curiosity-Harley objected, pleading for Harley to do it instead, but Common Sense-Harley vehemently opposed using herself as the guinea pig. But Harley Quinn was never one to back down from the dumbest decision in the room.

-See you on the other side!- She declared with a reckless grin, then aimed the gun at her own face and shot.