Was it a smart idea to drink an untested alchemical alcohol?
No.
Still, I could confidently say what I had dubbed liquid cocaine was a resounding success.
I had no idea where the fuck I was. The world had taken on a strange purple tint, and everything smelled like waffles.
Was I having a stroke? Who knew. I'd lost John a while ago after we'd both taken a shot of my new little concoction.
This was the strangest feeling of my life. Volition gave me a deep clarity of mind even while my body was probably blacked out as hell, and somehow that left me both drunk and not drunk at the same time.
Which meant my kick-ass skills were still intact.
"HAIYAH!"
My bat smashed straight into the Joker-faced piñata, dead center.
"Boss! Boss! Boss!" the crowd roared.
I threw my arms up, feeding off it, shouting right back at them. "WOOOOO!"
I moved through the crowd, slapping high fives from familiar hands I'd known for years and new faces I'd just met tonight. It was a heady feeling, seeing everyone like this, and it only made the high even better.
Still, every party had to end eventually.
I wasn't even sure I could read a clock right now, but the streets had started to thin out, and even inside the lounge, more people were passed out or heading home.
The unfortunate part was that I didn't feel tired at all. I already knew I was going to feel like absolute shit later.
There were only so many people left to bother. I drifted around the party, keeping the energy up with whoever remained, but even that had its limits.
"See ya around, Rodney." I gave one of my old buddies a pat as he barely stayed upright.
A few more goodbyes came from his friends as they helped him out, and I let out a slow breath.
Now what?
I let my body lead me across the lounge. I avoided the second floor at first, not wanting to deal with any annoying business talk or Justice Leaguers. Although… I did kind of want to meet Batman.
Surprisingly, despite my semi-long career as a goon, I'd never actually had a run-in with the Caped Crusader.
But maybe it was better not to have our first meeting while I was drunk on liquid cocaine.
So, naturally, I headed upstairs.
The third floor of the Iceberg lounge was quiet. From what I remembered, even on normal days, there were only a handful of private rooms up here reserved for "business." For the party, the whole floor had been blocked off and repurposed into storage and break rooms for staff.
It had been a pretty unanimous decision not to let people anywhere near the full stash of my potions. So the biggest jugs were kept up here, with the most reliable guys guarding them.
"Great work, Gary! Looking good, Stu!" I shot the gargoyles a thumbs-up.
Neither of them reacted, but that was fine. They were chill like that.
Still, the floor was dead quiet aside from the occasional staff member passing through, and I didn't want to be that kind of drunk just wandering and bothering…
So, naturally, I let fate decide and spun in a slow circle.
"Inny, meeny, miny, moe…"
I stopped, staggered slightly, then picked a hallway and pushed open the first door I saw.
"What's up—"
"WAH!"
I froze.
Then immediately registered that I was staring at… well.
Ass.
A very pale, very exposed ass.
Nice.
"You good?" I asked, staring at Harley Quinn bent over in front of me. Her pants were halfway down, and scattered across the couches and tables were pieces of what looked like a Batman costume.
"Oh!" Harley twisted her head around, grinning. "Hi, Jean!"
"Should I ask?" I chuckled.
"The damn Batman costume tights are too small on me!" she complained, wiggling again as she tried—and failed—to pull them off. "Getting outta these is impossible!"
A sane man would walk away.
Unfortunately, I was currently running on liquid cocaine and questionable decision-making.
"Need a hand getting them off?"
"My knight in shining armor," Harley cooed, eyes sparkling as she looked back at me. "Why, I thought you'd never ask."
So I did the only reasonable thing.
I stepped closer and helped her work the stubborn fabric down, careful not to trip her as she finally wriggled free. The rest of the suit followed not long after, piece by piece, until she could finally stretch properly again.
"Ugh, finally!" Harley groaned in relief before flashing me a grin. "Party was a blast, by the way. Seeing Mistah J get dunked on? The best!"
"Glad you had fun," I said, leaning casually against the table. "I'm kinda bummed it's basically over, though."
Harley tilted her head, stepping closer with a playful look in her eyes.
"Who says my night's over?" she teased. "Or yours, for that matter."
"Oh yeah?" I leaned in slightly, matching her tone.
"Mhm." Harley rocked lightly on her heels. "I mean, ya throw the biggest party in Gotham, help a girl out of a skintight batsuit, and then act all sad the fun's done?"
I snorted. "And here I thought I was being subtle."
"Nah." She closed the distance by another step, close enough now that I could catch the sharp sweetness of her perfume under the lingering smell of the room. "But I like that about ya."
"Oh yeah?" I leaned in a little, matching her tone. "What else do you like about me?"
Harley's grin widened. "Confidence. Good taste in parties. Great timing." Her eyes flicked down to my mouth, then back up. "And I'm startin' to think you clean up real nice."
"That might be the nicest thing anyone's said to me all night."
"I can do nicer," she murmured.
That was all the encouragement I needed. I closed the distance and kissed her.
It wasn't hesitant or uncertain. It was bold, direct, and full of energy, like everything else about her. I found myself leaning into it without thinking, caught up in the moment as the world blurred just a little more.
"Harley, I'm back—"
I turned.
Poison Ivy stood in the doorway, her expression locked somewhere between shock, envy, and slow-burning rage. It was almost impressive how clearly each emotion crossed her face in sequence, like watching an explosion in slow motion.
Huh.
Making out with a supervillain's… crush probably wasn't going to end well.
So I had a brilliant idea.
"Threesome?"
"Bwuh!?" Ivy immediately flushed red.
Harley, meanwhile, gasped—then broke into a wide, delighted grin.
"Now that," she said, clapping her hands together, "is a wonderful idea."
"Harl's, I—" Ivy opened and closed her mouth once before turning to me, her face somehow going even redder. "You are incredibly lucky I'm in a very good mood."
"That doesn't sound like a no."
That only made her blush deepen. Harley and I looked at each other and grinned.
Then we both reached for her hands.
And just like that, the night got even better.
—
Bane stood at the edge of his boat and looked back toward Gotham Harbor. In the far distance, the Iceberg Lounge still glowed with scattered lights, though the cacophony of the party had long since begun to die.
The little cult's failure had driven them to despair, and with that, the operation had no choice but to be abandoned.
Jean Valjean was truly a fearsome foe.
Bane still could not begin to comprehend the full extent of the man's means.
Thankfully, the Court of Owls and the Religion of Crime had served as perfect spotlights for the entire endeavor. The Goonion's wrath would fall on them first, and even if his own operation had failed, he would at least force his enemies to bleed each other for it.
Even so, Bane was not a man who simply bent the knee and fled with his tail between his legs. He had waited until the night dragged on and the guards were at their lowest.
The bombs had already been set.
Even if this failed as well, Bane had made certain to leave enough traces behind to implicate both of the other organizations.
"My parting gift to you, Jean Valjean." Bane turned away from the distant lounge. "Take off."
The boat pushed farther from Gotham's harbor, cutting through the black water as the city slowly receded behind them.
Bane glanced toward one of his men. "How long until the explosives detonate?"
"Thirty seconds, sir."
Bane gave a single nod and folded his arms behind his back. Santa Prisca awaited him, along with the many plans he had yet to set in motion there.
He was foiled for now, but not for long. Jean Valjean, the Court, the cults, the scavengers, and madmen that infested the city. They would tear at one another soon enough, and when the dust settled, Bane would come back to finish what he had started.
A faint song drifted through the air.
Bane frowned.
It was quiet, almost delicate, just enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck rise. For a moment, he thought it had come from the harbor itself, carried by the wind.
Then it came again, and this time he realized it was coming from below deck.
Bane moved without hesitation and descended into the belly of the boat.
Then he froze.
His explosives were there.
All of them.
Crates, bundles, and wired charges filled the lower hold, their timers blinking down in merciless red.
Bane spun and bolted for the stairs, moving with brute force and speed as the countdown numbers burned in his mind.
He threw himself upward, bursting back onto the deck.
Then he saw it.
High above the dark water, framed against the night sky, was a small angel with white wings.
Bane's eyes widened.
What—
Something caught his leg.
His balance broke instantly, and his body crashed hard against the deck before he could recover. The force sent him sliding back toward the center of the boat, the wood slamming painfully against his ribs.
"La mierda."
The bombs went off.
***
Comments and Thoughts would be greatly appreciated. Likes are like a drug to me and boost my creative juices.
I have advanced chapters on my Pa tre on/daisyberry if you wanna read ahead.