no one really talks about this part of the job.

after a night comprised solely of fighting harley quinn and her crooks, she’s laid out in a heap before you. not terribly injured, but certainly counting sheep in that head of her’s.

the building she commandeered is in a wreck, small fires across the place. the distant wail of fire brigades and police looms from the street floor.

somehow, tiny red and black birdies swirl around harley’s head, like she’s in a cartoon. you’ve learned not to question her.

time to get her down, and into arkham.