At the Hub, on the top floor, like a stylish CEO, the other Nephilim sits poised at the end of his marble desk, his gloved fingertips pressed against one another. A ponderous expression on his handsome face, he observes a line of five tele-devils displaying, from all angles, the Riddler’s defeat. 

 

Griffon, perched on a matching marble post a few feet away, squawks merrily as his master berates the former Arkham inmate.

 

“Your maze wasn’t clever enough.”

 

Squawk! “Wasn’t clever enough!” Squawk! “Not clever at all!”

 

“That’s absurd! His intellect had nothing to do with his victory. It was those darn wings that broke through my maze. You never mentioned anything about wings. If I had known he had that kind of power, I would have used a completely different diagram.”

 

“There’s no need to lose your temper, Mr. Riddler.”

 

“Mr. Riddler? I’m THE Riddler.”

 

“Well, THE Riddler, I freed you from Arkham Asylum, something you lacked the cleverness to do yourself. So if I were you, I would be far more cautious with my words.”

 

“Your brother gave something powerful to Robin and that screwed the whole thing up! Robin’s new abilities added unwanted variables to my perfect maze.”

 

“Robin is dead.”

 

“Deathstroke sent me footage of Dante and Robin together, I have proof that he’s alive. Right, Griffon?”

 

Griffon pulls another polly want a cracker, throwing his voice to sound like a cartoonish parrot.

 

Squawk! “Horse rubbish!” Squawk! “Don’t look at me.”

 

“Riddler, I don’t want you to end up like my former medium.”

 

“Oh? Hmm, okay I’ll bite. What happened to your former medium?”

 

“Holy Angel Triggers open rifts. Dante opening my rift to Arkham Asylum was no big deal. I have what I need from there. Dante opening a rift to the Angel Realm? They won’t let him in, but they will swoop in and take away all the humans they want, then slaughter anything tied to a demon.”

 

“That sounds like a you-problem.”

 

“They took her away when she accidentally opened the wrong rift. Dunno what they did with her. Maybe they spared her, maybe they killed her. My brother may be an angelic reject, but if his opinion of you is anything to go by…”

 

“You’re saying the angels will share the same opinion of me.”

 

“He doesn’t like you, Riddler.”

 

“I see your point.”

 

“Now get out of my office. Come back when you have a better maze.”

 

“My maze was flawless!”

 

“Bye.”

 

“Fine!” 

 

Reluctantly, Riddler grumbles out the door. Vergil warmly addresses Griffon.

 

“Anyway, Griffon, what were we talking about?”

 

“Wow, what’s got you in such a good mood, boss?”

 

“My Watchers informed me that Frisky Frances is on her way to the Hub.”

 

“Boy, you really got her stench stuck up your nose, huh, boss. No wonder you wanted that jamoke to fuck off.”

 

A Watcher seeps up from the floor, within darkness blowing like smoke.

 

“Your Majesty, a Hunter infiltrated the feeding station.”

 

“Deathstroke,” Vergil replies, “Give him what he wants.”

 

“The Watchers know not to challenge Deathstroke. This Hunter called himself, Killer-Red.”

 

“Go on,” says Vergil, intrigued.

 

“I observed from a distance. He destroyed another Watcher with the earth that he manifested from his bare hands. He wore a black cloak with a red hood. He wore red war paint on his face, his footsteps made no sound. He took great pleasure in the violence and the chaos. Watch.”

 

The Watcher seeps into the line of tele-devils, possesses them to replay the whole event. 

 

The crystal shattering, a stealthy surprise attack, the muck, the stealing of the meat, the unholy giggling…

 

“He must be an unaccounted-for demon,” says Vergil, “a hungry one. I don’t know why he didn’t ask for an audience with me. A demon like him would be useful to my regime. The way he’s fighting, he reminds me of Dante.“

 

“Vergil, that’s Robin!” Griffon exclaims.

 

“That’s Robin?!” Vergil yelps.

 

“Yeah, that’s Robin! Deathstroke was right. Dante really is protecting him.”

 

“Damnit, Griffon, Robin’s still alive?!”

 

Meanwhile…

 

With her paddle over her shoulder and a sparkly French-mime-inspired airbrush to the face, pigtailed Frisky Frances marches into the reception office. To the rounded desk she struts, where she finds the receptionist using a compact mirror to touch up his black eyeliner.

 

“Klarion, I demand an audience with Vergil.”

 

The Witch Boy pauses and glares at her.

 

“You’ll have to take a number.”

 

“Ain’t nobody here but you and me.”

 

“And Teekl,” Klarion says, lifting Teekl from his lap. She chirps…

 

“Mrrrp?”

 

“Whatever. I don’t need a number. I’m Frisky Frances.”

 

“You’re not fooling anybody, Harley.”

 

“Ya know what? You’re right.”

 

“Of course I am.”

 

“I’m Harley motherfucking Quinn! Ring him up, he’ll make time for me.”

 

“I doubt that, but for a good laugh, sure.”

 

He pages the office on the other side of the wall.

 

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

 

“Klarion, I told you I’m not taking any calls.”

 

“Oh I know, but Harley Quinn is here and she’s under the impression that you’ll make an exception for her.”

 

“Send her in.”

 

“Dang it!”

 

“Told ya so, Witch Boy.”

 

In Vergil’s office, the door flies open.

 

“Heeeeere’s HARLEY!”

 

Vergil is chipper, “Harley Quinn! My God, your timing is perfect, Harley Quinn!”

 

Squawk! “Yeah, you should have seen the look on his face when Klarion buzzed and said it was you!”

 

“I came to get what’s mine, Vergil!”

 

Vergil reclines in his regal chair. 

 

“My darling, I’m not in charge of getting the go-go girls paid. That’s floor eight. I can offer you a penthouse if you’d be willing to work directly under me. My original offer, as you may remember, it still stands, my darling.”

 

“Why? So you can feed me to the dogs again when I don’t bend down and lick your butt? I want my backpay.”

 

“Floor eight, my dear.”

 

“I tried that and you sent a demented nun-demon after me. I ain’t leaving until you pay me.”

 

“That’s fine, I have a holding room for gorgeous girls like you.”

 

He hits a buzzer on his desk. Two thugs enter behind her and grab her arms.

 

“Hey there, Harley Quinn,” one scowls.

 

“Give us a kiss, sugar tits,” says the other, who tries to eat her boobs.

 

“You wish, creep!”

 

“You’re a creep too, sweet cheeks."

 

“Yeah and a murderer.”

 

“Aaaah, shut up!” 

 

She elbows one in the sternum. 

 

“BLARG!” 

 

He lets her go. She then sprays them with the demon repellent Dante gave to her. The smell is so noxious that they rush over to a corner to barf and cough profusely. Vergil pouts.

 

“Pepper-spraying other humans with demon repellant? How disappointing. I had hoped you would put on a little show.”

 

He unsheathes his Yamato. 

 

Coughing slightly herself, Harley steps back, wielding her paddle.

 

“Don’t even think about it, Vergil. I’ll mash ya!”

 

“Relax, Ms. Quinn, this isn’t for you.”

 

He removes one glove, cuts his palm, then sheathes his blade and goes to the former inmates.

 

“Calm down,” he tells one, grabbing him by the back of the head. “Look at my hand. Do it!”

 

Through snot and tears the hoodlum wheezes.

 

“I’m tryin’ I swear!”

 

“See the blood? See it?!”

 

“Yeah yeah, boss, I see it.”

 

“Remember the hand that heals you. Remember who you serve.” 

 

He smashes his face in his palm. As soon as the thug ingests Vergil’s blood, he stops coughing. Vergil does the same to the other thug. Harley sneers, unsettled.

 

“Oh my God!” the first thug grovels. “You did it! You healed me, you really healed me! Thank you!”

 

“I take care of my subjects,” Vergil replies, eyeballing Harley.

 

“You really are our King!” proclaims the other thug.

 

“What?” Harley scoffs. “You’re not serious are you?”

 

“Oh but they are,” says Vergil. “You two can go now.”

 

The liberated inmates exit the room, beaming with awe. Harley rolls her eyes then looks away and shakes her head with contempt.

 

“Gross.”

 

“Our King doesn’t kid around,” squawks Griffon, “he takes care of us. He’d do the same for you if you’d stop being such a scamp.”

 

Using a fresh handkerchief, Vergil wipes away the blood and puts on a new set of gloves. 

 

“Most of Arkham’s prisoners were happy to work for me in exchange for residing here in the Hub.”

 

“They think you’re some kinda god, don’t they,” Harley scoffs.

 

He takes a seat and grins.

 

“Those from the asylum who showed no interest in my nurturing were sent to live in Limbo City, like you were.”

 

Harley shakes her head again, a bemused smile on her face.

 

“Whoa whoa whoa, back up.”

 

“Okay,” Vergil willingly complies.

 

“Did you just call yourself nurturing? What are you, delusional? I ain’t impressed and I ain’t leaving ’til I get what I came for!”

 

“Then you’ll be here for a very long time.”

 

The tele-devils surround her, one knocking the repellant out of her hand.

 

“Hey, what’s the big idea, pal?”

 

T.V. static blares! 

 

“YAK!” She quickly covers her ears. Abruptly, the devils go silent and display her black and white reflection. Only, the girl on the five screens has black eyes and cracked skin. She taunts her onlooker. 

 

T.V. one sticks out her tongue.

T.V. two gives her the bird. 

T.V. three makes a tragic clown face.

T.V. four gives her a malicious grin.

T.V. five gestures slitting her own throat.

 

“What the hell am I looking at?” she asks with disgust.

 

“The new model,” Vergil informs, motioning the tele-devils to back off. They obey, allowing him to bask in her evident bewilderment. 

 

“Looks like a fake if you ask me.”

 

“Hollow Harley is my very own creation. She’s the new Frisky Frances. When her time comes, you won’t be needed anymore.”

 

Harley looks Vergil dead in the eye.

 

“So ya need me, ay? Ha, you got the hots for me.”

 

Squawk! “She called it, boss. He’s been meaning to show you that for a while, don’tcha know.”

 

Vergil clears his throat and straightens his collar.

 

“Griffon is right. Hell made lesser devils out of your Joker. I’ve been working on a superior devil of Frisky Frances. You’re not jealous, are you?”

 

“Frances is my name! How about this, you want a little show? You got it!”

 

With her paddle, she takes a swing at the nearest tele-devil and…

 

BAM! She knocks off it’s boxy skull! Sends it flying down the corridors, where it explodes in the distance. It’s headless body collapses backwards, dead. The other four devils back away with their gloved palms raised in surrender.

 

Squawk! “Sick skills!”

 

She props the paddle in between her legs. Then, with a finger-locked stretch, arms over her head, she blows her fringe out of her face, and straightens her jacket. Though she raises her paddle once more, Vergil doesn’t hesitate to get up and approach her with pride.

 

“That turn you on, Vergil?” she asks, patting the iron in her palm, like a baseball bat, totally ready to take him out too.

 

“Of course it does. You’re one of the most resilient humans I’ve ever met. Stay here in my domain and be my righthand man, Harley Quinn.”

 

“No. I’m done. You’re clearly not gonna pay me but that’s okay. I don’t need anything from you anyway. I got Dante instead. Adios, loser!”

 

She rests her paddle on her shoulder and leaves. Griffon is insulted.

 

“Vergil, you’re really gonna let her talk to you like that?”

 

In the reception office, Klarion and Teekl are nowhere to be found.

 

CLICK. No more light. 

 

The door shuts. Harley stops in place.

 

“Hey, who turned out the lights. You trying to lock me in?”

 

Smog fills the air. It doesn’t have a smell and it doesn’t make her cough but it does make her… afraid. 

 

“Harley,” she hears a familiar voice taunt.

 

“Whose there?” she yelps, tensely swinging her paddle.

 

“Oh Haaaaaarleeeee. You’re not leaving are you? I was hoping we could have some fun.”

 

“Where are you? I’ll cream ya!”

 

“Why, I’m right here.”

 

Creepy laughter. Squeaky metal. On the receptionist’s desk, the lamp switches on to reveal Joker sitting in Klarion’s chair.

 

“M-Mister J?”

 

He stands, a nightmarish smirk on his face. He leaps over the desk and comes running.

 

Squeal! “Get away from me! NOOOOO!”

 

Back in his office, Vergil and Griffon listen to her hollering, Joker laughing, things breaking…

 

“Boy, they are having one hell of a time in there,” says Griffon.

 

Banging on the door! Harley begs!

 

“Let me in, let me in! He’s gonna kill me!”

 

Vergil goes to the door.

 

“Give me one good reason why, Harley Quinn.”

 

Thumping around, grunting.

 

“He’s got me! There’s more than one, there’s more than one! Open the door, PLEASE!” Scream!

 

Smog seeps from under the door.

 

“Careful boss,” Griffon warns.

 

“Don’t worry, it won’t do anything to us. We’d have to already be frightened to the extreme for it to trigger psychosis in our demonic minds.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Fear Toxin from Arkham Asylum. Fascinating stuff. Though, I may have tweaked it just a little.”

 

Joker’s voice, “Do you like being strangled, Harley QUINN?!”

 

Vergil opens the door, unsheathes his sword and with a few swift maneuvers, he massacres five Joker demons that had her tied down and gagged.

 

“It’s over. You’re safe now,” he tells her, his voice reassuring and sincere.

 

Makeup smeared, she rolls onto her side, sobbing through the cloth in her mouth.

 

“That went to shit much faster than you thought it would, I’m sure. Spit in my face and I’ll call for five more. They’re only going to get scarier, Harley Quinn.”

 

He removes the gag.

 

“I wanna go home!”

 

“But then you’d have to come right back for your performance tonight.”

 

“I don’t wanna be Frisky Frances anymore! I wanna see Pammy!”

 

“That’s completely understandable. Tell ya what, you keep dancing for one more week and then Hollow Harley will take your place. Permanently.”

 

“No-ho-ho-ho! Dante!”

 

“You do know he replaced you, right? He does that. Parties with one girl then moves on to the next, or in this case, he’s taken an interest in a young boy. I’m not even surprised.”

 

“No he didn’t, he’s not like tha-ha-ha-hat!”

 

He pets her hair, “Don’t cry.”

 

With a quivering lip, she turns onto her back and gazes at him. He’s bright and beautiful, and his wings are stunning, but she’s not sure they’re real.

 

“You’re an angel?”

 

“I’m Nephilim. Just like Dante.”

 

“Just like Dante?”

 

“Yes, Harleen. Look at me, could I really be all that bad?”

 

“I… I dunno anymore.”

 

“Then we’ll always be able to work something out. Are you willing to come with me?”

 

“I… okay.”

 

“Very good, my dear, you’ve made the right choice.”