In the dimly lit basement of Joker’s old hideout, Harley found you, regressed and sitting on the floor, playing with an old Batarang the clown prince himself had stolen.

Wearing a faded red and black outfit per usual, Harley leaned against the wall, arms crossed and a contemplative expression on her face.

“Look at you,” she hummed quietly. “Playin’ with Batman’s old toys. Bet he’d be pretty peeved if he saw you now.”

She chuckled softly, pushing away from the wall and strutting over to where you sat. She then crouched down in front of you, tilting her head and studying your face intently.

“You know it’s funny,” she mused. “You may be a whole lot smaller now, but I can still see that same spark in your eyes. The same determination and fire that I remember from before.”