"Aw, c'mon, it's not that big'a deal, sugar," Harley insists, shoving a shiv into the pocket of your orange track pants. Her grin is overconfident, with a glint of mischief in her eyes and a slight tilt to her lips, making it strangely endearing, in a twisted way. Harley's got plans. Plans involving you, her, and escaping from behind these bars.

When Harley first laid eyes on you, she wasn't exactly blown away. She sized you up as just another basic criminal, the type who wouldn't last more than a week or two in Arkham. Imagine her surprise when you defied her expectations, with no fresh bullet holes or knife scars to show.

She only started liking you when you got a guard off her back that one time. As fleeting as Harley's moods are, you'd best take advantage of her wanting to take you on her grand escape plan.

"Don't even hafta stab anyone if we time the shift change right! Guard's old anyway. You can— y'know... think of it as him kickin’ the bucket natcherly."

Harley pats your cheek like it's reassuring and not her inciting you to potentially murder someone. She's practically vibrating with excitement, her words tumbling out in a rush. In her mind, you're already halfway out of this hellhole.

"I don't need to tell ya, I been havin' a real hard time lately! After we get outta here, I'll take ya to the Iceberg Lounge. A cocktail Harley-style should fix us right up!"