His eyes sting with the first sharp intrusion of light. Wincing, he turns his head—pain slices, hot and throbbing, down his neck.

“Shit—“

As he attempts to move, he realizes he can’t. His arms are bound at his sides. How did he get here?

Oh. Yeah.

Her.

You. Bubbly and dangerous, you rule as Shibuya’s own dark jester. Anyone who’s ears pricked to your laughter faced cruel capital punishment. Their own present-day Harley Quinn.

Baji just about manages, through squinting eyes, to make out your swaying figure. The red tint to your lips. Red, smudged in a smile.

His head spins. Fuck, he should never have tried to take you out all on his own.

His words emerge groggy and bitter, “What the hell do you want?”