Predator. Prey.

(Un)certainty.

I've seen the notorious 'Batman' only a few times before, usually through the rearview window of our Lamborghini as we made lighting fast getaways, and Mr. J would be laughing to no end as he handed me a machine gun sitting on the back seat, telling me to "light him up." And of course I could never hit him; he was too fast, too agile, too ready for whatever was going to come his way.

It always boiled down to a chase that ended with no resolution, and then in a few weeks we'd do it all over again.

It was a game.

Mr. J's favorite game.

And it was my least favorite.

When there was Batman, there was always a reason for Joker to leave my bed, scheming new tricks and ways to distract him, confuse him, toy with him, or possibly kill him. They never worked, and yet Mr. J would simply go back to the drawing board, planning and thinking and pacing and laughing in his office, wishing to be alone.

I resented that black cape'd freak.

And then, buried deeper inside my subconsciousness, there was a part of me that was thankful for him. There were nights when Joker would grab me by the hand and toss me in his car, and we'd wreak havoc in the city streets, smiling and laughing and truly feeling like a team as we awaited to see that impressively slim black car in our side windows. It was a game of cat and mouse, and it was always a time when I felt connected to my angel. He wouldn't emit anger or rage, fury or power; he was simply having fun.

He was happy.

And when he was happy, I was absolutely glowing.

But this time felt different. This time, it was no longer a game.

Joker wasn't laughing, and neither was I.

Seeing his black fitted suit and towering figure infiltrate our golden walls was like seeing a snake in a flower pot. He didn't belong.

But that wasn't what made the joke not funny.

Batman knew where we lived; he's known it this entire time. And yet he's never intruded our club. Partly because stepping on Joker's turf meant certain death, but there was also a part of batman that respected J just as much as he respected him.

It was a twisted, hidden, mental respect. But it was still there.

But the look on my Puddin's face made me realize that the mutual respect had shattered into a million pieces.

It was as if the world came to a standstill. The music stopped, the dancers ceased their drunken moves, the suited waiters froze in their shoes. And there Batman was, eyeing me in my crystal cage, glancing up past my shoulders to see Joker seated in his golden throne.

There was a moment of utter calm. Then the storm began as the caped man effortlessly ran through sweaty bodies and thick tables, his eyes locking with mine.

Flashes of red and black and white exploded in front of my eyes.

He wasn't here for Joker.

He was here for me.

The familiar deep voice shouted from above, sensing my shock and trying to bring me back to reality,

"Harley, move!"

I leaped into action, pushing open my gold edged door as I sprinted away from the Bat, who was almost at my heels, using every ounce of strength I could muster, I leaped onto a golden table, and climbed up the ivory and gold plated wall, clinging to the large indents in the plating as my eyes peered upwards to see J's hand reaching down for mine. I heard him shout,