Y/N's Pov.

Steam billowed around me as I leaned heavily against the cold tiled wall of the shower, water cascading over my head and down my scarred body. My breathing was uneven, each exhale trembling as flashes of the past clawed their way into my mind. The jagged sound of Joker's manic laughter echoed, his voice ricocheting through the dark recesses of my thoughts.

I gritted my teeth, gripping the edge of the shower curtain so tightly I thought it might tear. The screams came next—Tony Zucco's screams. I could still feel the weight of the birdarang in my hand, the warm spray of blood as I drove it into his body again and again. Over and over.

Then the laughter changed. It warped, shifted pitch. It wasn't Joker's anymore.

It was mine.

I sucked in a sharp breath and opened my eyes, staring at the water swirling down the drain. My fists clenched at my sides as I willed the memories to stop. My body shuddered, the scars on my neck stinging as if the barbed wire were still cutting into my flesh.

"Y/N?"

I flinched and turned sharply, the sound of my name cutting through the haze. Harley stood just outside the shower, wrapped in a towel, her blonde hair damp and sticking to her shoulders. Concern softened her usual playful smirk.

"You okay in there, puddin'?" she asked, tilting her head as her blue and pink-tipped bangs clung to her cheeks. "You've been in there a while."

I didn't answer right away, letting the water rinse over me a few seconds longer before reaching out to shut it off. Grabbing my towel, I dried myself quickly and stepped out, avoiding her eyes.

"I'm fine," I muttered, wrapping the towel around my waist and heading toward my room.

Harley followed close behind, her usual bounce muted as she padded across the floor. "Fine? You're always 'fine.' I'm askin' how you've been, y'know? Ever since... well..."

I didn't need her to finish. I knew what she meant. Ever since Joker "saved" me. Ever since my death had been faked. Ever since I became whatever the hell I am now.

I opened the door to my room and stepped inside, the weight of her presence lingering as she shut the door behind her. Her voice softened, losing its usual manic edge.

"You've been quiet lately," she said, sitting on the edge of my bed and watching me as I dressed. "Quieter than usual. That ain't normal for you."

I kept my back to her, pulling on my shirt. "What's normal for me anymore, Harley? You tell me."

She didn't respond right away, the silence stretching between us. Then, almost timidly, she said, "Y'know, we all got ghosts, Red. Ain't no shame in havin' 'em. Just... don't let 'em eat ya alive, alright?"

Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit, but I didn't respond. Instead, I sat on the edge of the room's small desk, gripping the edge tightly as I stared at the wall. My thoughts were a tangled mess, the memories, the laughter, the screams—all of it blending together.

Harley leaned back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows, her expression oddly serious. "You're stronger than ya think, puddin'. Stronger than anyone I know. But ya gotta stop lettin' what happened control ya. Or maybe... just maybe, let someone help ya through it."

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, I almost laughed at the irony. Let someone help me? I'd been doing this on my own for as long as I could remember. Trust wasn't exactly in my vocabulary anymore.

But as I looked at her, lounging on the bed, her blue eyes watching me with something that resembled sincerity, I realized that Harley—of all people—might be the closest thing I had to someone who understood.

. . .

After I threw on a black hoodie and jeans, I headed into the living room area of the warehouse. The place was an eclectic mess of stolen luxury, a testament to Harley's twisted sense of interior design. I flopped down onto the worn leather couch, letting out a tired sigh. Predictably, Harley was right beside me in seconds, her legs tucked under her as she grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

"Y'know," she started, grinning as she leaned back against the cushions, "stealin' that TV from Tony's mansion was one of my better ideas. Not to mention all the other goodies."

I glanced around the room, smirking despite myself. She wasn't wrong. The place looked like a bizarre combination of a rich man's trophy room and a carnival funhouse.

There were arcade machines lined up against one wall, the flashing lights and looping 8-bit sound effects adding to the chaotic vibe. A gumball machine sat in the corner, absurdly out of place next to the polar bear rug sprawled across the floor. Above us, a gaudy chandelier hung precariously, its crystals glinting in the dim light. And, of course, there was the espresso machine perched on a makeshift counter in the corner—because why not?

Harley caught me looking and winked. "We really outdid ourselves, huh? Tony's loss, our gain!" She giggled, nudging me with her elbow.

The TV flickered to life, and the lighthearted atmosphere dimmed as the news came on. The headline caught my attention immediately: "Mysterious Deaths in Gotham: X-Marked Killings Spark Fear."

The reporter appeared on screen, standing in front of the Gotham Police Department, her expression somber.

"Authorities are investigating the deaths of three individuals found in an alleyway late last night. All victims displayed a distinct X-shaped wound on their abdomens, leading investigators to believe that Gotham may have a new serial killer on the loose. The public is advised to exercise caution, especially in the wake of recent violent incidents across the city."

Harley chuckled, her voice cutting through the tension. "Serial killer, huh? They sure know how to spice up the news, don't they?"

I stayed silent, my eyes fixed on the screen. The footage shifted to a shot of the alley, marked-off crime scene tape fluttering in the wind. Flashes of last night's events played in my mind—the screams, the blood, the feeling of cold steel in my hands.

Harley must've noticed the change in my expression because she leaned in closer, tilting her head. "Aw, don't tell me you're gettin' all broody on me, Red. They were just some lowlife scum. Nobody's gonna miss 'em."

I rubbed the back of my neck, the tension building there almost unbearable. "It's not about them," I muttered.

"Then what's it about?" she pressed, resting her chin on her hand as she studied me.

I didn't answer. Instead, I leaned back into the couch, closing my eyes and letting the reporter's voice fade into the background. My thoughts were a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, guilt, and something else I couldn't quite name.

Harley didn't push me further. Instead, she grabbed a gumball from the machine, popped it into her mouth, and sprawled out beside me. "Well, whatever it is, just remember—you're Red X now. Gotham's new nightmare. You don't need to explain yourself to anybody, 'cept maybe me.

I leaned forward on the couch, tension building in my chest as the news report continued. But something wasn't sitting right. The X marks on the bodies? That wasn't me. I never touched them after taking them down. My brow furrowed, and I finally spoke, my voice low and steady.

"I didn't mark them."

Harley blinked, caught mid-chew on her gumball, before sitting up straighter. "Wait, what? Then who—"

Before she could finish, the door to the warehouse creaked open, and Slade stepped in, his presence as commanding as ever. He took his time strolling toward us, his single eye glinting with amusement.

"That would be me," Slade said casually, crossing his arms.

I shot him a glare. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Slade smirked, leaning against the wall. "The marks. They were my touch. From now on, every enemy you kill, you leave your signature. Right in the same spot. It's about branding, kid. Gotham—and the world—needs to know who Red X is before they even see you coming."

Harley immediately chimed in, her voice high-pitched and teasing. "Hold up! Joker's plan was to keep Red X under wraps 'til my little puddin' here was fully ready. Ain't that right, baby?"

She flashed me a grin, but I wasn't in the mood for her games. I grabbed a nearby pillow and tossed it at her, making her fall back onto the floor with an exaggerated yelp.

"I am ready," I growled, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Slade chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Oh, sure you are." He suddenly tossed something toward me. My mask. I reached out to catch it, but I wasn't fast enough. The mask smacked me square in the chest, and I lost my balance, toppling backward—straight onto Harley.

"Well, this is cozy," Harley giggled beneath me, giving me a cheeky wink.

Slade burst into laughter, his deep voice echoing in the warehouse. "Yep. Definitely ready."

I shot him a venomous look as I quickly got off Harley and adjusted my hoodie. Slade straightened up and waved a hand toward the door.

"Enough playing house," he said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Time to get moving. We're low on ammo."

I scoffed, brushing off my hoodie. "Harvey's stash is plenty stocked. Why waste time?"

Slade's expression darkened, and he reached into his belt, pulling out two pistols. He clicked the triggers, the empty chambers echoing loudly in the room.

"Because Harvey's ammo isn't top-tier," Slade said, his voice cold and commanding. "We're hitting a nearby military base. And this isn't just about ammo."

He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

"There's a pilot stationed there. Steve Trevor. Ring a bell?"

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Trevor was her connection—Wonder Woman's. One of the so-called "heroes" who had looked down on me, ridiculed me, and underestimated me. My fists clenched tightly, my nails digging into my palms.

Slade noticed, his smirk returning. "Thought that might get your attention. Now, get your gear. We leave in ten."

He turned and walked out without waiting for a response, his footsteps echoing through the warehouse.

I stayed rooted in place, my mind racing. Harley was still sprawled on the floor, watching me with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"You okay, puddin'?" she asked softly, for once dropping the teasing tone.

I didn't answer. Instead, I grabbed my mask from the floor and stared at it, the sharp red X glaring back at me.

I took a deep breath, my fists still clenched. "I'm coming."

Slade's voice called back from the other room, laced with that smug amusement he always carried. "Didn't think you were coming earlier," he said, mocking.

I didn't bother responding. Instead, I slipped on my mask, feeling the familiar weight settle over my face. Turning on my heel, I walked straight to the arcade machines, gripping one of the joysticks and pulling it sharply.

The wall behind the machines clicked, gears whirring as a hidden panel slid open. My suit stood on a sleek black stand, illuminated by dim red lights. Next to it, my utilities were neatly laid out: the blades, smoke bombs, grappling line, and everything else I needed.

I suited up quickly, strapping on each piece of armor with precision. The red X on my chest glowed faintly as I slid my blades into their sheaths. Turning, I saw Slade had already changed into his gear, his mask as menacing as ever.

As we moved toward the back exit, Harley sprang up from the couch. She darted over and stood in front of me, leaning up to plant a kiss on the side of my mask.

Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. For once, it wasn't playful or giddy. It was serious.

"You've been hurt for too long, puddin'." Her lips curved into a faint smile, but her eyes held something darker. "Now it's her turn to feel what you've felt. Make it hurt. Make it brutal. Show her what real pain looks like."

Her words hung in the air like a blade. She stepped back, her fingers lightly brushing my arm before falling away. "But... make sure you come back to me, okay?"

I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak.

Slade's voice broke the moment. "Let's go, X."

I followed him out the door, my boots crunching against the gravel. Slade was already at the bike, mounting it with ease. I climbed on behind him, gripping the back of the seat as the engine roared to life.

We sped off into the night, weaving through the dimly lit streets of Gotham. The city blurred around us, but my focus was razor-sharp.

Wonder Woman had underestimated me before. She'd mocked me. Ridiculed me. But after tonight, she would know what it was like to lose everything

"She's going to be the first to pay"

Time skip.

We arrived at the air force base in DC under the cover of night. The perimeter was heavily guarded, but Slade and I slipped through the shadows like ghosts. The first couple of guards we encountered were lucky—they got to live. Slade had made it clear this wasn't about killing everyone in sight. This was a mission about precision and efficiency, a way to train me to be an assassin who could compensate for the lack of powers I never had.

We moved silently, cutting through the base's outer layers. When we reached the vents leading to the armory, I slid in first, moving quietly through the narrow space. Peering down through the grate, I spotted a lone guard monitoring the armory from a control desk.

I dropped down without a sound, my blade already in hand. Before the guy even realized someone was behind him, I slit his throat. Blood spattered across the desk, and the guard slumped forward. I marked an X on his abdomen quickly before gesturing to Slade, who dropped down after me with two large duffle bags in tow.

Slade didn't waste any time, moving methodically through the armory and loading the bags with ammo cartridges and other firepower. I kept watch, occasionally glancing at the control monitors. Using a small device I'd rigged earlier, I hacked into the camera system, looping the feeds so no one would notice us.

"Keep up, kid," Slade muttered as he stuffed the bags to capacity.

I rolled my eyes but stayed focused, grabbing a couple of smoke grenades from a nearby shelf.

Finally, Slade closed the last bag and tossed it over his shoulder. He looked around, scanning the rows of weapons before his eyes landed on a rocket launcher.

Without warning, he picked it up and tossed it toward me.

"What the hell?!" I blurted, catching it just in time. I immediately checked to make sure it wasn't loaded, sighing in relief when I realized it wasn't. "Why would you throw this at me?"

Slade chuckled, pulling a handgun from his holster to check its magazine. "We could spend all night searching for Steve Trevor. Even then, there's a chance he's not even here."

"Okay, so what's your genius plan?"

"Simple," he said with a smirk. "We blow something up."

I raised an eyebrow, holding the rocket launcher tighter. "That's your solution? Just start an explosion and hope for the best?"

He started walking toward the armory's exit. "We make them think they're under attack. Everyone on or off duty will rush in to defend the base, including Trevor if he's here. If he's not..." He glanced back at me. "...then we get a head start out of here with our prize. Either way, it's a win."

"Right. Because nothing says 'subtle' like a giant explosion," I muttered under my breath, slinging the launcher over my shoulder.

Slade grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Relax, X. It's called creating opportunities. You're here to learn, aren't you?"

I sighed, shaking my head as I followed him. Something told me this was going to get messy.

We strolled out of the armory like we owned the place, walking right into the open hangar. I carried the rocket launcher casually on my shoulder while Slade cradled a grenade launcher like it was his favorite toy. The faint hum of activity in the distance was the only sound as we glanced at each other.

"Ready?" Slade asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I smirked beneath my mask and nodded.

With that, I aimed the rocket launcher at a grounded jet and pulled the trigger. The missile streaked forward, and a deafening explosion lit up the hangar, sending debris flying.

"Time to make some noise," Slade said as he raised the grenade launcher and unleashed hell. Round after round detonated, rocking the entire base as fireballs erupted in every direction.

The alarm blared, a wailing siren that echoed across the base. Voices shouted orders in the distance, growing closer with every second.

Slade laughed, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Now this is the kind of fun I've been missing!"

He tossed the empty grenade launcher aside and pulled out his sniper rifle. I dropped the now-useless rocket launcher and unsheathed both of my X blades. We stood back to back, surrounded by the growing swarm of personnel rushing into the hangar.

Above us, the steady thump of helicopter blades filled the air. A searchlight beamed down, illuminating us in the middle of the wreckage. Soldiers shouted as they took positions, rifles aimed directly at us.

Slade raised his sniper rifle, peering through the scope as he scanned the crowd. "C'mon, where are you...?"

Bullets began to ricochet off the concrete floor near us. I gritted my teeth, shifting my grip on the blades as the tension built.

Then Slade chuckled, the sound low and victorious. "Bingo."

"What?" I asked, glancing back at him.

"Up there." He tilted his head toward the helicopter hovering above us. "Steve Trevor's our guy in the bird. Figures he'd take the high ground."

Before I could respond, Slade pulled a smoke grenade from his belt. He popped the pin and tossed it at our feet, the cloud quickly enveloping us.

"Go on, X," Slade ordered, his voice calm but firm. "Get up there and handle Trevor. Leave the cleanup to me."

I nodded, gripping my blades tightly as the smoke swallowed us. This was my moment to make a statement, to show I was more than just the boy they all underestimated.

Without another word, I sprinted through the haze toward the helicopter, leaving Slade behind to deal with the army closing in around us.

I burst into the control tower, adrenaline coursing through my veins as the sound of gunfire roared through the enclosed space. Bullets whizzed past me, ricocheting off walls and shattering glass. My blades flashed in the dim light as I parried incoming shots, moving with precision. Each strike was swift and deliberate.

A guard lunged at me, firing wildly, but I sidestepped and drove one of my blades into his chest. His body slumped to the floor, and I marked him with an "X" on his abdomen before moving on. The muscle memory kicked in—clean, efficient kills were second nature now, drilled into me by Slade's brutal training.

The staircase spiraled upward like a challenge, and I raced up, my boots pounding against the metal steps. Guards swarmed the narrow passage, but they fell one by one, their screams of agony echoing in my ears. The hesitation I once felt about taking a life was gone. Not holding back made me faster, stronger.

Each body left in my wake bore the crimson mark of the Red X, a promise that I was no longer bound by the ideals of the past. This was what I'd been remade into—someone who didn't flinch at the sight of blood, someone who didn't hesitate.

At the top of the stairs, the final obstacle loomed: a general barking orders into a radio. He turned just in time to see my blade slash across his throat, cutting off his words mid-sentence. I marked him as well, the symbol a stark contrast against the spreading pool of red.

Before I could even take a breath, the roar of a helicopter engine filled the room. A searchlight flooded the tower through the shattered windows, blinding me momentarily. Then came the unmistakable whine of a minigun spinning up, followed by a hail of bullets that tore through the walls and consoles around me.

I dove to the floor, pressing myself flat against the cold metal. The relentless stream of bullets shredded everything in their path, leaving no room for error. My armor could take a hit, but it wouldn't hold against that kind of firepower for long.

My mind raced. The gunner in the chopper had to be taken out, or I wouldn't make it out of this alive. From my position on the floor, I scanned the room, looking for anything I could use to turn the odds in my favor.

A smashed console caught my eye, sparking with residual electricity. My lips curled into a smirk beneath my mask.

"Perfect," I muttered under my breath.

I crawled toward it, careful to stay out of the searchlight's path. My blades glinted as I prepared to make my next move. The gunner didn't know it yet, but his time was running out

I yanked the wires from the shattered console, sparks flying as I wrapped them tightly around the handle of one of my X blades. The makeshift whip would have to do. My grip tightened as I listened for the minigun to stop its relentless revving, signaling my chance to strike.

The moment the gunfire paused, I sprang into action. Charging to the edge of the tower, I hurled the electrified blade with pinpoint precision. It hit the side of the helicopter, embedding itself near the gunner. Sparks danced along the wires as the shock made him convulse, causing him to tumble out of the chopper. The sickening splat of his body hitting the ground echoed in the chaos below.

But the blade caught on the barrel of the minigun, and that gave me an opening. I grabbed the wires and took a running leap off the edge of the tower, holding on tightly as I swung toward the helicopter. The wind whipped against me, and I could feel the tension in the wires straining under my weight.

Steve Trevor, seated at the controls, noticed me immediately and began to swerve the chopper violently, trying to shake me off. The sudden jerks almost worked—my grip faltered as the wires slid through my hands, burning against the material of my gloves. Just before I slipped entirely, I unsheathed my last X blade and drove it into the side of the helicopter, anchoring myself in place.

The helicopter bucked and swayed, but I climbed steadily, pulling myself toward the passenger side door. With one final heave, I swung myself into the cockpit, the blade still clutched in my hand. Steve reached for his sidearm, but I was faster.

I slashed at his hand, the blade slicing through tendons and forcing him to drop the weapon. He gritted his teeth in pain, but before he could recover, I held the blade to his throat, the edge pressing against his skin.

I lifted my mask just enough for him to see my face. His eyes widened in shock, the recognition hitting him like a freight train.

"Y/N...?" His voice trembled, barely audible over the chaos around us.

I leaned in, my voice cold and devoid of hesitation. "She's next."

Before he could respond, I dragged the blade across his throat, the gurgling sound of his final breath filling the cockpit. Blood splattered across the controls as Steve's lifeless body slumped forward.

Without hesitation, I yanked the blade free and kicked the door open. The helicopter was spinning out of control now, flames licking at the interior. I jumped, aiming for the rooftop of a nearby building.

I landed hard, rolling to absorb the impact. Standing, I turned to watch as the helicopter spiraled downward, crashing in a fiery explosion that lit up the night sky. The flames reflected in my visor as I stared at the wreckage, my breathing steady despite the chaos.

I made my way through the shadows, backtracking toward the spot where Slade parked the bike. The chaos inside the hangar had died down, and I knew that meant Slade had finished his part of the mission, covering my tracks and keeping the military at bay. I found him by the bike, his face still as cold as ever, duffle bags of ammo slung over his shoulder along with my other X blade—the one I thought I'd left behind, tangled in the chopper's wreckage.

I didn't waste any time getting on the bike, slinging my leg over it and settling into the seat. Slade wasted no time either, roaring the engine to life as we sped off into the night. The adrenaline from the mission still coursed through my veins, but Gotham's towering skyline was just ahead, a reminder that this city always held a place for me—whether it was the Gotham I'd once fought for, or the one that now feared me.

By the time we arrived back at the warehouse, the familiar glow of the neon lights shined through the windows, welcoming us home. Inside, Harley was already settled on the couch, watching TV with that mischievous smile of hers. When we walked in, she giggled and reached for the remote, turning the volume up.

The news reporter's voice filled the room, recounting the attack on the military base and the chaos that had unfolded in the air. A dozen soldiers dead, their bodies marked with Xs, including the general and one named Steve Trevor. My mark.

"Just in time!" Harley chimed, eyes sparkling as the reporter showed footage of the chopper crash and photos of me in action. The mysterious villain known only as Red X.

I turned to Slade, brow raised. "Why didn't you kill anyone?" I asked.

Slade met my gaze with his usual stoic expression, but there was a faint glint of approval in his eyes. "Tonight was your debut," he said, pointing to the TV. "You're the one they'll be talking about tomorrow. Not me."

I stared at the screen, seeing myself standing there with the helicopter in the background, my signature X marks evident on the fallen soldiers. The new villain of Gotham.

I removed my mask, tossing it onto the table as I relaxed back into the couch. Harley, ever the affectionate one, leaned over to plant a kiss on my cheek, her lips brushing against my skin. I chuckled, half-exhausted and half-amused.

I wonder who'll be next, maybe I'll pay Flash's girlfriend a visit, or Kidnap green lantern and use his ring against him? so many choices...

To be continued. . .