Harley Quinn X Nightwing: Our Story, Yours Truly

Chapter 12: "My Life as a Double Agent (Sort Of)"

Harley Quinn slipped through a hidden passage marked by an owl emblem, gaining VIP access to the exclusive area of the club, 'King of Diamonds'. Her lips curled into a playful, devilish smirk as she scanned the room.

She strutted into the club, her outfit commanding attention. She wore a tailored black jacket over a red tank top, showcasing her toned physique.

Her bold, black and red distressed denim pants had a subtle rip at the knee, paired with a slim black leather belt that added a touch of sophistication.

Her overall look was completed by black stilettos with a subtle heel, which added a final touch to her edgy, high-octane appearance.

Her newly customized Chiappa Rhino 60DS revolver, holstered at the back of her belt, adorned with white grips featuring a gold skull emblem and intricate engravings, the cylinder alternated between "Life" and "Death" in gold lettering.

As she sashayed her way to the bar, men started catcalling and making lewd remarks, their voices slurred and confident. "Hey Harley Quinn, looking for a new plaything?" one sneered.

Another chimed in, "Harley, how about a little fun with us... or maybe a lot?"

One man, emboldened by the atmosphere, reached out to grope her. "Nice ass," he leered, his hand lingering on her hip.

Harley's expression darkens, her eyes blazing with fury. Without hesitation, she grabs the man's wrist and slams his head onto the table, the sound of glass shattering and wood cracking filling the air.

The man's eyes go wide, and he crumples to the floor, unconscious. "What did you say again?" her voice low and menacing, as she leans over the man's prone form, a slow, sweet, and terrifying smile spreading across her face, her lips curling up in a grotesque, gleeful grin.

"Nothing?" her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Good!"

The groper's friends quickly pick him up and hurry him out of the club, casting nervous glances at Harley as they make a swift exit.

The other cerebral patrons, sensing the tension has dissipated, go back to their drinks and conversations.

Harley continues to the bar.

"Hey Harley, quite an entrance there," said the bartender with a chuckle.

"Hey, Milton!" she replied, "How are you?"

"That's not my name."

"Oh, really? I could've sworn you told me your name was Milton."

"I did not. There's no Milton here. What brings you here? Haven't seen you around since...well, you know." He nodded discreetly, referring to her breakup with the Joker.

"I'm looking for a job. Something that utilizes my... particular set of skills," her voice husky and confident.

The bartender sounds intrigued. "Well, I might have a few things that could interest you. A contract on Batman's head. Bane is looking for his missing goon."

(I think I saw Bane's missing goon somewhere...)

Or, if you're interested in something a bit more... There's a client looking for a saboteur to disrupt Wayne Enterprise's operations. Another needs an enforcer to collect debts and 'persuade' clients to pay up. And, of course, there's always the option for discreet 'waste management'... eliminating unwanted witnesses or liabilities, for a hefty fee.

"Ooh! Those jobs sound like child's play. What about something a bit more... exotic? I heard Batman recently busted an operation, but I'm sure there's still a market for human trafficking... and more importantly, does it pay well? A girl's gotta keep her finances fresh!

The bartender's gaze darted around the room, ensuring they were out of earshot. "I don't know of any such job," his voice low and cautious.

But Harley caught the flicker of hesitation in his eyes and pounced, her curiosity piqued. "Come on," she coaxed. "I can tell you're hiding something. Spill the details."

The bartender's eyes darted around the room once more, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alright, alright. I might know a thing or two. But you didn't hear it from me."

Harley's grin grew wider as she leaned in, her voice equally hushed. "Oh, darling, I'm as silent as the grave. Now, spill!"

"There was this guy, always bragging about his lucrative gig transporting containers to the harbor. He'd flash wads of cash, buying rounds of top-shelf liquor. But then, he turned up dead in the alley, brutally gutted. Now, nobody dares mention anything..."

Harley's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Ah, now we're talking! Who's the mastermind behind this lucrative operation? I want in, and I'm willing to offer my unique skillset."

The bartender leaned in, his voice a whisper... "I'll put out feelers for you, but be warned: you're playing with fire."

Harley's laughter was a low, sultry purr. "Danger is my game, Milton. I'll be waiting..."

As Harley leaves the underground club, the bartender's smile fades, his eyes narrowing as he gives a discreet nod to a patron...