human
Life was an unending misery for the desk jockey named Vincent Wells. If pushing paper ever got boring, and it did constantly, he has his womanizing, mysogynistic bastard of a boss to keep him company. Lukas constantly called on him to clean up his messes, be it a puddle of cum on the conference table or a rightfully angry woman who wanted her due. If that wasn't enough, his hideously "conservative" supervisor constantly berated his work ethic. It was always: "america wasn't won by lazy shits like you." Or: "just like you demo-can'ts! You just want to cash that wellfare check don't you!"
It was like he didn't even notice the wanton sex going on in the offce next to him.
But that was only one of the many circles of hell around Vincent's neck.
His all too small apartment was the source of the most anguish.
Back in college, when life seemed like an adventure that he had ahead of him, vincent got lucky and caught the eye of a cheerleader. In fact, the head cheerleader, the one every man, student and teacher alike, lusted after. She stuck with him for his last year college, through late nights and failing grades. He was too blinded by the romance of it all to notice that he was the main support in the relationship. He didn't notice her unkind words or the little lies she told him. He was with a cheerleader!
He was a year out of college when he started noticing used condoms stuck to the toilet bowl. They certainly weren't his.
It took him a few months to put the pieces together, but he eventually figured out that his 'best friend' was banging her behind his back.
Of course, his big tip off was an over heard phone conversation with one of Chelsie's bobble headed friends...
"I mean, yeah his dick is pretty big...no...why would I?...I think I was his first, I'm not sure...I know he's pathetic...look, he worships the ground I walk on-- that's good enough for me...of course I am...troy, 'the best bud'...sounds like a man but--his cock is pretty small compared,he isn't afraid to use his tongue though..."she burst out laughing."unlike some people..." vincent was mortified. He couldn't believe she was so shallow and uncaring. Yet there it was in her own words.
He stayed with her in spite of what he heard that night. His fear of being alone paralysed him completely. Maybe if he tried harder, it wouldn't be so bad.
The thing is, a man can only take so much before he breaks and he was teetering on the edge.
It only took twenty-four years, but he finally grew a pair of heavy ones.
He was tired of feeling like a shitstain, tired of being plan B. He wasn't going be the whipping boy anymore.Monday fell on a new man.
The first thing vincent did was report his boss for sexual harassment and for creating a hostile work environment. It was a small, simple gesture, but he was only getting started. His next target was his facist supervisor, and he wasn't getting off with a simple visit from hr.
The thing about Herman was that he loved his vintage mustang, he called it 'the only real american car'. Vincent had always thought it a little bland, painted bone white as it was. To thank Herman for his inspiring words, he decided to spray some nice "gay" purple paint on and cram the tail pipe with a big fat black dildo.
There was nothing left at his life crushing job so he quit. Simple and easy.
His last act of vengance would prove to be his rebirth, but not quite the way he planed.
Because of the grevious betrayal his 'best friend' commited, it was only fair that he should get to say his piece. Unfortunately, his mouth wasn't up to talking, so his fists picked up the slack.
The cops had to taze him into submission before they could even get close.
Three months later, vincent found himself serving a five year sentence for assault.
Prison was strangely liberating for him. He didn't have to take anyones crap as long as he could back up his talk.
Vincent truly and deeply enjoyed backing his talk up.
By the second year of his imprisonment vincent had become well respected by the convict population. The third made him the boss. His fourth, well. No one stepped left on the fouth year. Even the prison guards begged to be his bitches.
Prison made vincent into the man he had always wished he was.
On the outside the world seemed so different. He could see what was so fresh and pure in the world, its potential.
He had to make sure it met that potential. He had seen the dregs and the refuse of society and fucked them all. He knew how to keep them in their place. Vincent was full of strength and desire, he had keep this world pure and right. Gotham would be the starting point, the world would see what a real man could make of this rotten place.
gpt
"B-but puddin' cup..." Her lower lip quivered. Sure, Joker was an ass, but this? She didn't think it would go to this. Certainly he would want to helpher instead of just bolting. after all they had been through, after all she put up with, a little loyalty wasn't too much to ask for was it? Well, apparently it was. Considering the latest bimbo clinging to his arm. Harley wasn't particularly surprised, it wasn't as if the Joker really did much other than sleep around, go on killing sprees, and otherwise indulged his madness. Still it hurt.
And it was scary.
It wasn't as if she could just walk back into Arkham and go about her supposed life without him. He was the prince, she was the princess right? Forever and only his, the Harlequin from Commedia dell'Arte.
"Don't take it to offense my dear, put on a happy face. It's just you have your problems, and I have mine. And I find it ever so pointless to have the same sickening routine over and over. Certainly you know that more than ever!"
"B-b-but!"
"My dear little Harley...my happy face gal. You know I can't stay here it just isn't good to my health, now that you are all full of he, and even less of a she. Come now, you know I don't like sad faces. Cheer up, before I make you cheer up."
She wanted him to. She really did. That ungrateful bastard, she wanted him to beat her down at least one more time, to fuck her inside out and make her whole. If only for the relief that he would stay with her one more night. However he moved to the fire escape and all she should do was hold on for dear life against the wall.
"Aww Quinny, Pointless, little useless Quinny. If you won't smile for me, I'll do it myself."
***
Sweat was the absolute worst. Well, except maybe the cool of the room when she threw off the blanket. But who was she really kidding, it was the wobbly heat between her legs that was most annoying. Of all the things she had gotten used to, there was still a few kinks she was working out as far as her...appendage went.
See, Ivy may have some good ideas, but often those ideas aren't as tested as they should be. Which, strength, agility, and heighten reflexes aside, certain chemicals should be tested before the use on humans. In case they happen to become...a bit manly. Literally.
She wasn't displeased with her body, per se. Rather she found the bulging member between her legs to be a kind of a annoying curiosity. Something she was still discovering in terms of its potential uses for her work. She still had what her mother gave her, and most likely the organs that came with it, but it was her newly grown cock that took the front of her new masturbatory urges. "Standing" a good nine and a half inches tall, fully erect that is, it was one of the few things that helped pull her out of her depression after that maniac left her.
Maniac? Oh, more like coward, piece of shit, dirt bag, jackass.
The real maniac was what he left behind. Little Harley Quinn, little pet bitch to that jackass? Not so much anymore. In fact now that the Clown Prince of Crime was out of the way, it was time for the Queen of Havoc to stake a claim in the burning pile of feces that was and forever will be Gotham. In the few months since he left she had already made a substantial impact by herself. Not that there was much to be heard of as far as villains or heroes. Who was she kidding? Everyone was some shade of villain really, and as far as the bat went--by far the worst in terms of "hero villains"--was too mysteriously absent in the city. She didn't really care, after all since his lover the joker left, certainly batsy would go.
She had to remember that. That would make a nice addition to her site.
She pulled on her clothes and wondered about the nights work. There was much to do. People to kill, killers to recruit, stuff to steal, and stuff to give. She would not burn the city down like Joker tried oh so many times. What is the point of reigning over nothing after all? No, instead her city deserved something more. It deserved the unexpected. It deserved piles of burning bibles, and money raining down on the common folk. It deserved all of the guns to be taken from the police and given to any and all persons old enough to point and shoot. And thus began the terror that was Harley Quinn, the Queen of Havoc, Goddess of Anarchism.
Her costume changed as well. What was once a parody of power, picked out and loved by the joker, for it was the female version of him--became something more suiting of a disillusioned woman. Black skin tight leather replaced spandex. She created a new hat whose simple black matched her leotard, and the dangling puffs transformed into something that looked more like rubies one would find on a crown....or blood one would find on a sword. She wore flat red boots, and red gloves that went up to her elbow. Her mask stayed the same, other than now she took the time to delicately paint a small red heart on her left cheek.
She smiled into her reflection. Not one of those cheeky grins she gave the joker, but an honest one that whispered stories of crime, insanity, and perhaps most of all, sex. Little chaste Harley was gone now. And she was using every opportunity to prove it.
She exited out of the abandoned complex leaving the small storage room she was staying in without a care. If anyone was stupid, or bold, enough to mess with her new found home--she would deal with them accordingly. She was the reigning law around here, and everyone who had earned a name new it.
human
Being an ex-con was no easy matter. Jobs that were already elusive shrank from him even more. No one in their right mind wanted to put a roof over his head and no one would even think of loaning him money to live on while he got back on his feet.
How did the world grow so unforgiving and so cold? How could people continue to live like that? Maybe they never even noticed, maybe they made it like that with their apathy. It did not matter, either way. Vincent would make it right. He wasn't good for anything else.
The matter became, how to make this diseased city change? It was so bad, even its so called heroes abandoned it, its colorful crew of criminal crazies left...the place was ripe for a change in management.
However, it was not as if Vincent could start up a neighborhood asociation and clean up the streets. Neither the cop, nor the locals would want to be a part of the measures he saw as needed to finish the job.
When change will not emerge from with in, it must invade from without.
Vincent decided to invade gotham, there was no other reasonable option.
His only problem was that an invasion needed an army, and he was fresh out. It did occour to him that he might take advantage of the rampant unemployment and disgusted men who littered the streets itching to fight...
It had taken a few months of work, but the vigilante had finally managed to pull together a large crew of men willing to help him. Though he was certain that many were simply there to get some easy money. Most were obviously cretins and drug addicts, but it did make them easy to control. All he had to do was dangle a little yeyo or ice in their faces and they fell in line.
Boss...I hear some wiseass is trying to get the cop on us..." one of his more burly associates chimed nervously.
"And this should bother us how?" Vincent growled, his impressively lean, long body leaned over some paperwork and stacks of cash.
His 'office' was impossibly neat and organized. Guns and knives of every variety crusted the walls, obscuring the ratty paint on the walls.
"Well...I mean, its the cops..." the brawny, thick man struggled.
"Have they ever bothered us before, Ronny? Have they?" He asked patiently.
"No..."
A small smug smile creeped across Vincents face.
"I have my cock so far down their throats, they can't even breathe with out me knowing. Don't sweat it. Besides, isn't it time you and the boys knocked over that whorehouse on Cain street?"
He asked pointedly.
"Yeah...I guess it is...shame though, those girls knew how to suck cock....now where will they go?"
The boss grimaced angrily.
"My heart bleeds for you....get your coke addled ass out there before I teach you to suck cock better than the ever could, and if I hear of one woman hurt-- I will cut your balls off and make you my fucktoy...got it?"
Ronny didn't need telling twice.
gpt
Cain street had lots of fun memories. Like that time when Joker cause a ten car pile up, and she had to clean up the mess. So much fun. No, the real reason she came around here was because she needed to liberate some people who deserved it. See, the whorehouse here was still partially under Joker's wing. His sadism was ever so catching to the little fanboys that crept up in his wake were well...annoying to say the least. Harley did try to avoid killing when she could, however she was beginning to have quite the reputation building with the amount of uncreative-punk ass blood on her hands.
Cain street had lots of fun memories. Like that time when Joker cause a ten car pile up, and she had to clean up the mess. So much fun. No, the real reason she came around here was because she needed to liberate some people who deserved it. See, the whorehouse here was still partially under Joker's wing. His sadism was ever so catching to the little fanboys that crept up in his wake and were well...annoying to say the least. Harley did try to avoid killing when she could, however she was beginning to have quite the reputation building with the amount of uncreative-punk ass blood on her hands.
No matter. Hopefully there wouldn't be any here. She was wearing new boots and didn't want to get blood on them.
She walked cautiously to the red brick building looking it over. It was once an old pottery shop, if memory served correctly. It wasn't much to look at. Two tiny floors on a little corner road, surrounded by the dirtiest pieces of shit Gotham had to offer. It wasn't as if shehatedthe ghetto, or the people who struggled within it. She hated the people who let them stay in it. Bruce Wane and his philanthropy bullshit didn't help them, it just provided enough marketing for him to turn over even more profits. The schools were a joke, and for the most part--unless it was Christmas--nobody gave two shits about the place.
So it was no surprise when she found out that here in the heart of corporate waste there was a brothel. After all, there were call girls and brothels all over Gotham, why would this place be any different? What bothered her the most about this particular one, was the obvious police presence, and usage. The Cain Street Whorehouse was quickly becoming a tourist attraction and it probably wouldn't legally close down until Gordon himself got the clap from it. She shook her head. Oh the stupidity of men. She cracked her knuckles listening to the people inside. She didn't have much of a plan, perhaps she should have taken the rest of the Banshees with her, but they were probably having too much fun at Momma's house to want to leave. Let alone work. The only thing she really had going was the intimidation factor. She probably wouldn't have to kill anyone, at worst there would always be at least one stupid fuck to pull a gun, but that was ever so easy to deal with.
That made her giggle. Guns. Ha! If they even got close to shooting her she would be impressed, considering how fast she moved now, she would be blown away if they even had time to pull the trigger before she broke their jaw. She smiled big and kicked the door in.
"Hey Sugar plums, why is everyone trampling around inmyhouse? Don't you know how to call first? It's only polite to call before attending the party." She walked in staring at the faces. There were women scattered like confetti,most looking cold and miserable, but there were a few men holding some to their laps.
"If I were you, I'd run while you still have use of your legs. Oh, and leave the girlies alone. You never know one day they might get testy and bite your sad excuse of a cock off or something. Joker knows all about that, you can ask him."
A few people gasped, and even more backed away. However, Harley barely had time to move from the door before a stampede of activity happened that for once caught her off guard. Guns, lot's of 'em, along with armor and helmets, and annoying grunts that should no better than to be on her territory. Glaring, she begrudgingly crossed her arms, and stepped into the mass of quivering scared people as they ran to get the hell out of there.
human
Ronny and his crew had suited up and loaded themselves with guns in preparation for yet another robbery/takeover of a brothel. They never did anything with them, like run them for profit, all vincent ever did was renovate and sell or use them for 'regional bases'. It often left the grunts wondering what his deal was. He was making money, hand over fist, but he didn't really have any true street presence. They didn't sell any drugs, though they stole tonnes, didn't pimp any bitches, and no protection money either.
Still, the group had fun knocking over all of those crack dens, whorehouses and smugglers warehouses. So it all evened out. They still got all the drugs they could want, free as long as they stayed in line.
Fifteen minutes later, the large, heavily armed group burst into the brothel and made their intent known.
"Alright! This shithole is under new management! Courtesy of the reapers! Ladies of the night, you can stay till we split the money. Johns, get the fuck out before we blow you to kingdom come!" Ronny announced loudly as he kicked a fat, balding, corporate looking man in his face brutally.
"But first, pimps, come out with your hands up. Or we kill every man in here till we find you. That's more fun-- by the way! So please, hide like the dickless cowards you are!"
Ronny was pissed as could be that the boss had turned him down, again, when he asked to keep a ho, so he decided to make himself look like a hero on the off chance that one of them might ask to be his.
It didn't take too long for a small troupe of flamboiantly dressed lowlifes to slink out of the shadows and get on their knees.
"Look man, I know you can appriciate a fine bitch..." a pale pimp in purple fur and blond dreads piped up."so how about you pick some of these girls and I will give you a nice fat wad of cash every damn week man...every week. Just let me go on working this street.okay?" He pleaded, trying to get a hand hold to leverage himself with.
The group looked rather excited at that thought, having a woman to call on for sex was a wonderful prospect to them.
Ronny, however, was unimpressed.
"Fuck you fag..." he launched a swift kick to his palid face and turned it red with blood.
"I could have all of these 'bitches' as you call them. But they deserve to be free." He was on a roll, some one of those skilled women had to want him by then...
gpt
She laughed. This couldn't be happening. Not in her city, not in her, very, very, well known territory. She watched as women slowly scrambled to the back exiting through broken windows, or to warn their friends upstairs, johns booked it the fastest, and the few pimps that were around tried to blend in with them, but there was no hiding the needle tracks and manicured hands from her trained eye. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. This was just going to be too easy.
She walked forward, placing a hand on Ronny's shoulder. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I seem to be missing something. Reapers did you say?" Her voice was almost sing-song as she crooned to the amored men as more people despersed.
A chuckle. One of these guys....yup, she had seen it before. Obviously he wasn't the boss but he was pretending to be. No leader has to try this hard to get other's to follow them, it was either fear, or power, or honest respect that allowed one to have a place of power within a group. Not violent showmanship and OBVIOUS "Love me love me" attitudes. People were leaving as fast as they could find a hole to get out of the building, pimps being tripped and betrayed for the ease of escape it brought others. Within a few very short moments, Harley was on the floor, legs crossed, giggling at the more or less pathetic attempt at leadership Ronny tried. The three pimps on the ground around her were in various states of wheezing and bloody and were in no position to drown out her laughter.
"Big shot boss, eh? I can get behind that. To bad you don't know a single cotttin' pickin' thing about this here establishment." She said playfully mimicking a southern accent in her sing-song voice. "Maybe, just maybe it's because," her eyes flashed something dangerous and a long toothy grin broke over her face, "You don't belong here. Do ya puddin'? You are far away from mommy aren'tcha?" Another long giggle came as she looked at the faces in front of her.
"Oh but how rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Harley. Harley Quinn that is. I run a little operation you...what was it again? Creepers? Squeakers? Probably heard of. Called the Banshees. And you, are trespassing." She watched the men move around her and she got up almost lazily, cracking her neck and her knuckles at the same time.
"Don't you know better than to just show up unannounced into a Lady's house? OR...." She gritted her teeth, cocking her head to the side, "Her territory?"
human
The rest of the drug pumped posse shrank at the sight of the once love of the clown prince, knowing what she was capable of.
Ronny was, as usual, undaunted, quite the opposite, Ronny's ego swelled as he eyed the lovely, mad woman.
"You know what they say about great men...how about you be my great woman, I hear the Joker is out. A woman like you deserves a man who can appreciate how perfect you are... Don't ya think?"
A woman like Harley Quinn would surely give him enough clout to be his own boss.
"But let's focus on the important thing. These women are free and they are safe. I know you can agree with that. Your reputation precedes you, all that chaos and mayhem...you just want to have a little fun right?" Most people bought his easy going act till it was too late, the thugish grunt prayed that Harley would too.High on the victory of his total conquest, something told him that he had a shot in hell at landing that high caliber woman.
If she was as crazy as he had heard, Ronny could only imagine how wild she was in bed.
He could only dream of the pair they would make.
While Ronny imagined, a scrawny little backroom accountant emerged from one of the upstairs bedrooms, naked--save for a pair of MAC-10's in his boney hands.
"you motherfuckers! I got a good life here, bitches on demand and I finally got some power, you don't get to mess that up!" He hollered angrily, obviously unhinged by stress.
Not one of the raiders could react in time to dodge the hard rain that fell from the sky.
Except for Ronnie, who dove like a rabbit for cover and fumbled with his gun as he returned fire blindly.
None of the thirty-two bullets in the massive uzi clip landed remotely near the basement dweller.
"Aaaaahhhh fuuuuuk you!" Ronny screamed, hands scrambling for a fresh clip.
gpt
It was a strange sensation, and the woman had known it before. Coppery on the tongue wet starting to drip down her side. It was only a moment that she closed her eyes, but that's all it took.
***
"Harleen! Shhhh, it will be okay, Mama is here--fight it darling."
"It hurts."
"I know baby, shhh. You'll be okay."
Her head was cradled in softness as warm hands disinfected her shoulder. She saw long silky red. It dripped into her eyes. Hot white pain seared into her shoulder and soon took over her body. Strong arms were rocking her trying to soothe her screams with soft singing that swirled like pollen in the air.
***
The force of the shot made her fall back to the ground but it was only temporary. She could already feel her body healing. The shrapnel left over would wither be processed with a serious stomach ache later, or would simply dissolve from the new chemicals in her body. What damage the shot did do were two completely irreversible things that Ronny and these Squeakers would pay for. First, her suit now had a pretty large hole in it, thanks to Ronny's half-assed attempt at returning fire. Second, she had her own blood under her fingernails, and that just wouldn't do.
She opened her eyes, noting she was flat on her stomach with her ears ringing angrily from all the gunfire. The naked man was squarely in front of her, probably thinking she was dead, as well as she could see Ronny cowering in the back. Typical men. Everything's dick waving competition to them.
In a sift movement she reached forward and grabbed the self-loathing little clerk's ankle and pulled at the joint. With the new boosts Mama Ivy set her up with it was only mildly surprising at the loud wet crunch that his foot had after the fucker completely crashed on his face. She estimated that he wasn't going to wake up for a while but to be certain she arose calmly dusted herself off best she could, and aimed a sharp kick at the accountant's head.
She gave a small whistle, as to call a puppy. "Here squakers! Come here. Little mother fucker shot me and I deserve some clean fucking clothes!"
human
None of the would be invaders answered on account of being shot--not dead, thanks to the heavy armor that cradled their bodies, but still very much in shock. Meanwhile, Ronnie began celebrating his blinding victory by marching out of cover and whooping.
"That's right you stupid, motherfucking piece of shit! That's what you get for underestimating a lady like Harley Quinn!" He was clearly back on track since his life wasn't in danger anymore. "So, how about it lovely?" He said a perfectly confidant smile on his face."I get you some new threads and we hit the town for a little havoc?"
If Vincent were there, he would surely have castrated the self serving coke addict on the spot. Even though they were druggies of various kinds, they deserved a little compassion, and at the very least some medical care. As it stood though, Ronnie was clearly more concerned with getting some ass than with caring for his team.
Meanwhile, in Vincent's warehouse base, the chief reaper himself sat back and brooded over the state of Gotham. He was clearly making a difference, but it was far from fast enough, even worse-- there was a new super drug on the streets that threatened to undo all of his hard won progress.
"Edwardo," he barked into the nearby intercom. "Have you managed to find a dealer that can get us some 'rind'?" Usually he did ground work himself, but seeing as the drug world was full of paranoia, one wrong word would easily get him shot, two would likely result in the loss of his balls and he didn't even want to contemplate what three wrong words would incour.
His only real comfort was that the GPD was having just as poor a time as he was, if not worse.
The 'agents' reply came very slowly. "Yes, I got two guys who claim they can get some rind, but they want to do wholesale...either they are blowing smoke or...."
"Or their lords are on to us and have set a trap. When do they want to meet?"
Edwardo's shock was nearly visible, even over the speaker. "Uhhh...Saturday, at the "foo-gue" bar and grill."
Surely, that was a sign that he had caught someones attention. Usually a drug deal like that took place in a dive bar, not an all night club.
Vincent mulled his options for a moment.
"I suddenly feel like going clubbing, how about you?"