The Death knell

The heavy rain showed no sign of letting up, and the dark clouds above grew thicker. The numerous dead bodies around them gave Albert an indescribable feeling.

It was a mix of excitement and relief, as if he had broken free from something. He wanted to joke with Cindy and lighten the mood, but she was focused on the mission and didn't respond to his attempts at humor.

As the Joker once said, if a person or city is to descend into chaos and madness, all it needs is a little push. Albert had watched Harley and Two-Face fall into that chaos, and now, he was the one being pushed.

After the frenzy of killing, he felt euphoric, like drinking a cold beer on a scorching summer day. Every cell in his body buzzed with exhilaration. He turned his head to look at the mangled corpses behind him. Cindy didn't notice his strange behavior as she searched for an entrance to the building.

The place Harley occupied matched her chaotic nature. The door facing the street was merely an illusion—a painting on a wall of thick red bricks.

"Well, no door. We'll have to climb," Cindy noted, pulling a rope and hook from her belt. She had initially come to negotiate with Harley, not to start a fight. Climbing through a window hardly made her look like a guest.

Albert's sharp instincts told him that Harley wasn't the only one inside. He glanced at the building and remarked, "Let's go, but be cautious. You never know what surprises are waiting in a madwoman's house."

They threw their hooks simultaneously, securing them on the rooftop. Their upper body strength allowed them to scale the wall swiftly.

The first and second floors were sealed tight, with only the third floor boasting a rickety platform resembling a lookout post. Perhaps it was used by Harley's gang to shoot at people—or at each other—for sport.

Albert landed silently on the platform, the rain masking any noise. Cindy joined him, the two yellow and black masks meeting in a brief, knowing nod.

With a powerful kick, Albert shattered the window. Glass and wood flew inward as they entered, guns drawn, guarding their surroundings.

"Clear," Albert confirmed, rotating his shoulders. The building was illuminated, revealing a decrepit college dormitory. Dust and garbage littered the floor, forming murky puddles where rainwater mixed with dirt.

"Don't these lunatics ever shower?" Cindy muttered, visibly repulsed by the stench. Her helmet's gas mask could filter toxins but not foul odors.

Albert wasn't thrilled by the smell either, which reminded him of rotting garbage. But his attention was on the staircase leading up. "Ignore it. Let's find Harley."

"Wait," Cindy warned, pointing to a glint near the stairs. A fishing line was barely visible, connected to a pile of trash. Albert uncovered the end of the line, revealing a grenade.

Painted entirely red with a smiley face, the grenade was a signature prank from Harley's gang. It was part of their twisted game: "Kill your friends with joke bombs, then laugh like maniacs."

"No! We're being watched!" Albert realized aloud. Where there's a prank, there's someone waiting to see the reaction.

Right on cue, a horde of maniacs burst from the rooms lining the corridor. Faces painted grotesquely, they laughed maniacally as they charged with open arms.

Albert and Cindy didn't mistake it for a welcome. As the mob rushed, bullets and explosives rained down on them.

Albert dove behind the staircase while Cindy leapt back out the window, taking cover on the wooden platform outside.

Explosions rocked the corridor, the noise deafening. The force of the blasts made Albert cling to the staircase railing to avoid being blown away. Shrapnel with mocking smiley faces whizzed past his shoulders.

Despite the carnage, the attackers advanced, laughing maniacally even as their comrades were blown to bits. It was as if blood was their fuel, driving their madness onward.

"They're like engines running on blood—others' or their own," Albert muttered, shaking debris from his helmet. He peeked around the corner. The hallway was swarming with about forty armed lunatics, wielding light firearms and crude weapons.

He tossed a smoke grenade, using the thick cloud to obscure their vision. The hall became a chaotic mess as the clowns bumped into each other, disoriented by the smoke and flickering lights.

Albert seized the opportunity, charging into the smoke with his shotgun. He moved with precision, firing round after round, the red muzzle flashes illuminating the white smoke.

By the time the smoke cleared, the floor was strewn with bodies. Cindy hopped back in from the window, glancing at the aftermath. "Not bad. Forty-two enemies in six seconds. You're just like me from another world."

Albert reloaded his shotgun, his armor splattered with blood and viscera. The close-quarters combat had turned him into a walking horror show.

Cindy smirked, perched casually on the windowsill. "I didn't help because it would've been overkill. They were just minions."

Albert scowled. "You could've at least thrown me a cigarette or asked if I was okay."

Cindy tossed him a cigar, teasing, "Alright, big guy. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, except for someone's brains on my neck and my chest feeling sticky," Albert replied, stuffing the cigar in his case. "Thanks for asking."

Cindy snickered, leading the way upstairs. "Men and their need to look good and stay clean... I thought your world was patriarchal."

Albert shrugged. "It is, but not everyone enjoys bathing in blood. Although... I think I liked it. What about you?"

Cindy stopped on the steps, her gun at the ready. "We're the same in different worlds. I like everything you like."

"How do you control this... bloodlust?" Albert asked. He could accept killing as a necessity but didn't want to do it for the thrill.

Cindy thought for a moment. "I redirected mine to money. Green is better than red blood," she said, rubbing her fingers together like counting cash.

It made sense. For Deathstroke, the thrill of bloodshed and the allure of wealth went hand in hand.

They reached the fourth floor, which was oddly quiet. The walls were painted with garish clown faces, their eyes replaced with crosses, and colorful graffiti covered every inch.

"Harley's above us. I can hear the music," Cindy pointed to the ceiling.

Albert listened. Amidst the rhythmic tapping of high heels, the music continued. "She's dancing? Even after all that noise?"

Cindy shrugged. "Never try to understand the mind of a lunatic."

The two approached the source of the sound, finding a door at the end of the corridor. They exchanged a glance before pushing it open.

Inside was a circus-themed nightclub, flooded with spinning, colorful lights. Harley Quinn danced on a pole at the center of the room, her red and blue ponytails twirling through the air.

She looked completely carefree, lost in her dance. Meanwhile, on a high-backed sofa facing away from them, another figure sat nodding to the beat, apparently enjoying the performance.

"Four o'clock. Someone's watching," Cindy whispered.

Albert nodded, tightening his grip on his weapon. "Looks like we're not alone."