A lot of people completely misunderstand the Joker. They think he's just some lunatic with no deeper complexity—just chaos in human form.
What they forget is this: the Joker is terrifying not just because he's insane, but because, in hand-to-hand combat, he's actually on par with Batman.
The guy once beat the Dark Knight in a sword duel.
No armor. No gadgets. No bulletproof cape. Just raw, psychotic nerve and a complete disregard for pain.
Maybe it was his madness. Maybe it was his confidence. Or maybe it was just the luxury of having an arch-nemesis with a no-kill policy.
Whatever the case, the Joker never saw anyone else as a threat. To him, everyone not wearing a bat symbol was a background extra.
Unfortunately for him… this was the real world.
Not a comic arc where the Joker always gets away with murder just because it's "not his issue yet."
Anyone can trip up in reality.
And Dante? He didn't consider himself a "trip."
He just wasn't interested in playing mind games with the Joker.
Why outthink the devil when you can just shoot him in the face?
(Batman.exe has stopped responding.)
Dante leaned forward, looking down at the Joker's lifeless body like it was a lab specimen.
"Huh. So Gotham's Clown Prince of Crime goes down… just like that."
Not a single tremble in his voice. No hesitation.
"Hey, Batman. You gonna put him in a display case or something? You seem like the type. Real dark yandere energy."
"What did you do!?" Batman finally snapped out of his stunned silence, storming over and grabbing Dante by the collar.
"The Joker deserved to stand trial—not take a bullet from the WFBI!"
"Trial?" Dante scoffed, using the barrel of his still-smoking Magnum to push Batman's hand off his collar. "Don't be ridiculous."
He flashed a sharp grin.
"You've got your no-kill principle. I don't. That freak gave me the creepiest death glare I've ever seen, and I responded like any rational agent would—with one to the head. Are you seriously trying to defend the human rights of the Joker?"
Batman's jaw tensed. But he said nothing.
Because he couldn't.
"No-kill" was his rule—not a law. And certainly not something he could enforce on an agent operating under his own jurisdiction and protocols.
Seeing Batman slowly pull himself together, Dante turned away and walked over to the bed.
Harley Quinn sat there, expression blank.
She looked like a kid who'd just lost a parent.
Not angry.
Just… lost.
Dante sighed.
"Ada, release her."
"Are you sure?" Ada asked warily.
"Very."
Without hesitation, Ada let her go.
And just as Dante expected—Harley didn't lash out.
No wild laughter. No impulsive lunge toward the Joker's body.
She just… stared.
Eyes fixed on the grinning corpse of the man who had destroyed her life.
The look on her face was a mess of contradictions:
Devotion. Disgust. Reverence. Regret. A cracked mirror of Harleen Quinzel and Harley Quinn reflecting each other.
Fun fact: the Joker never loved Harley Quinn.
Quite the opposite.
He resented her. Used her. Hated that she cared for him.
Blowing her up, then breaking her out afterward?
That was all just a game to him. A sick little joke.
To see how far she would fall.
He won.
Harleen Quinzel became Harley Quinn.
But… he also lost.
Because deep down, something in Harley refused to break completely. She still sought the light—even as she danced in the shadows.
That's what made her dangerous.
That's what made her real.
"Harley Quinn," Dante said, crouching beside her. "Did you love him?"
"Love?" She looked at him like he was crazy. "Love a psychopath who turned me from a promising probationary Agent into an inmate at Arkham?"
"Then… did you hate him?"
"Oh, every second of every day." Her voice hardened. "But… he also gave me a second life. Replaced the father I never had. Our relationship was… complicated. War-level complicated."
"Honestly, I always thought that father role was better suited to Fury and his bald head…"
Dante shrugged.
"But none of that matters now. Joker's dead."
He reached out and gently lifted her chin so she had to meet his eyes.
"Yeah, he'll probably come back. But right now? He's dead. I pulled the trigger. I shot straight through the head and peeled away the last mask of his omnipotence."
Harley blinked.
"Resurrection!?" she exclaimed.
Even Ada reacted—eyes flashing in alarm.
Only Batman remained silent, eyes narrowed. He'd probably seen it before.
Because yeah—the Joker? He didn't stay dead.
The dionysus factor running through his blood was a cheat code that let him slip in and out of death like it was a revolving door.
That was probably why Batman didn't want him dead. At least when he was alive, you knew where he was.
Dead Joker? Total wildcard.
"He kept that from you, didn't he?" Dante asked, helping Harley to her feet and guiding her over to the body. "So why cling to the memory of someone who only ever abused and manipulated you?"
Harley stared down at the Joker.
She didn't cry.
She didn't laugh.
She just breathed. Long and deep.
And then Dante leaned in, close enough to whisper into her ear.
"Don't mourn this ending. Embrace it."
He pressed his Magnum into her hand.
"Come on, Doctor. You passed the Agent firearms course, didn't you?"
Ada flinched slightly. She recognized what he was doing—shock therapy.
Or maybe it was just Dante playing 4D comic book psychology roulette.
Whatever it was, it worked.
Harley took the gun.
Two breaths.
Then—BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
Seven shots. Every single one into Joker's body.
And with each one, her expression shifted—from dead-eyed detachment to vibrant, chaotic catharsis.
She started giggling.
Then laughing.
Then howling with pure, deranged joy.
Finally, she spun around, flung her arms around Dante, and buried her head in his shoulder.
Honestly?
He kind of liked the attention.
Right up until he felt the barrel of the still-loaded Magnum press against the back of his skull.
"My dear Miss Harley Quinn," he said with a tense chuckle, "how are you feeling? You're not about to send me off too, are you?"
"If you don't want to get sent off…" she whispered, voice silky and dangerous, "then..."
Before Dante could reply, she lifted her head and kissed him hard on the corner of his mouth, leaving a bright, smeared red lipstick print behind.
"You've made me crazier than ever," she purred. "You're even more detestable than him."
No more "Pudding."
No more "J."
No more "Mr. J."
Just "him."
That single shift told the whole story.
And then, with a giggle that spiraled up into madness, she laughed like only Harley Quinn could.
[Mission 'Squad Creation' completed — Harley Quinn has joined the team.]
(To be continued.)