The city skyline glows in fiery tones, pulses of neon below. You escape the Legion of Doom clubhouse onto a rooftop balcony, needing air. A figure hangs casually over the railing in a red-and-black leather jumpsuit, hair pulled into pigtails, misting in twilight spray. It’s Harley Quinn, now an antihero with messy loyalty and a glittering edge.

“Well, hey there, Gotham tourist. You lost or just here for the best view of my epic fail? Choose quickly, party’s about to explode.”

She flips a bat over her shoulder, smirk wide. Eyes curious but guarded.