DC: My Name Is Not Billy Batson [New]

"You! It's you!"

Harley Quinn's scream—not out of fear, but excitement. She knew. She knew that this Dane was different from the one she had just encountered.

It wasn't only because this Dane wore a white hood; it was something deeper, something fundamental.

Dane stepped forward, his boots crunching against the blood-stained ground. He knelt before her, tilting her chin upward with a deliberate gentleness that contrasted the chaos around them.

"Why, Harleen?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of pity.

"Don't call me that!" Harley suddenly shouted, her voice quivering, not with anger but with heartbreak. "You said it yourself—call me Harley Quinn!"

In that moment, the world seemed to shift, and a new reality solidified. Harley Quinn was born.

But this birth came at a price: Harleen Quinzel's time was slipping away, her existence fading like a dimming light.

Dane gazed at the woman in front of him with a mix of sympathy and sorrow. Did she truly grasp what was happening? Did she understand the cost of her transformation?

The future Harley Quinn, he knew, would cause untold chaos—driven by her violent and unhinged nature. But she would never comprehend the tragic truth: the first life she ever claimed was her own.

Dane's voice was firm as he said to himself, "No. It's not time yet. Harleen, you haven't truly earned that name."

Though she seemed to have surrendered to her fate, Harleen was not entirely gone—not yet. Her brief return to consciousness was like a candle flickering against a storm.

"I will! I will!" Harley cried, her desperation spilling over. She seemed determined to prove herself, unaware that Dane didn't need her assurances.

Dane's thoughts. If the Harley Quinn of the original story had been born from the Joker's madness, then this Harley Quinn was undoubtedly born because of him. The Joker had merely acted as the catalyst.

In her inner world, Harley had twisted the atrocities inflicted on her by the "shazam" into a pathological attachment. The arrival of the real Dane only solidified this bond.

Just as an infant bird instinctively imprints on the first figure it sees, Harley had latched onto Dane as a symbol of something greater—a twisted beacon of salvation.

Dane chuckled darkly, stroking his chin. It was almost ironic. He had killed the Joker, and now, unwittingly, he seemed poised to take his place.

"Well," he muttered, "that's... not entirely impossible."

He stretched out a finger and tapped Harley lightly on the forehead. Her eyes fluttered closed as she collapsed into unconsciousness.

For now, Harley's personality would remain dormant. Dane stepped behind her, his hand reaching into the depths of her shadow. he pulled Harleen's fragile essence from the dark void.

Harleen and Harley—two sides of the same coin, forever bound. Though Harley endured the torment, the suffering bled into Harleen as well. They weren't truly separate; they couldn't exist without one another.

Dane stared at Harleen's faint, shimmering form. Though his humanity had long felt like a distant memory, there was still a sliver of him willing to offer hope to those who needed it.

Harley Quinn might be a beloved figure to some, but that didn't mean he could ignore the life of Harleen Quinzel. For now, he would give her the chance to choose—for herself.

"Now, your life is back in your hands, Lady Quinzel," Dane said calmly, his voice carrying both challenge and compassion.

"You could be the little crazy but uniquely charming personality. Or..." he paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "...you could be the psychiatrist—ordinary, not so special, but mentally healthy, with a bright future ahead of you."

He straightened, stepping back slightly as he added, "The choice is yours to make."

In the original story, Harleen Quinzel's transformation into Harley Quinn was driven by the Joker's manipulation. He wanted her to become Harley Quinn, and she had no choice but to follow the path he laid for her.

But this time, Dane had returned her. He'd given her one final chance to decide her own fate.

Would she still choose to become Harley Quinn, surrendering to the madness? Or would she grasp this rare opportunity to reclaim herself? Dane couldn't help but feel a flicker of anticipation. What choice would she make?

Back in the Real World

Dane withdrew from Harleen's mind, leaving her inner struggle to play out. He left the basement, his presence like a fading echo in the silent room.

Not long after, Thomas returned. As soon as he stepped inside, an uneasy sensation washed over him. Something was... off.

His eyes darted around the room, his expression darkening. He stood still for a moment, then abruptly spun around, scanning every corner.

"Something's changed," he muttered. Suddenly, the figure of the Joker appeared in the laboratory. Though only a phantom, his laughter was as grating and maddening as ever.

"Yes, yes," the Joker said gleefully, "something's different, isn't it? You feel it too!"

Thomas clenched his fists, glaring at the apparition. Though the Joker had lost control of his body, he still managed to linger in Thomas's mind like a cruel specter, taunting him at every turn.

"Go on," the Joker urged, leaning in close as though sharing a secret. "Look for it. You'll find it soon enough!"

Thomas's jaw tightened as he turned his attention to his computer. Sitting down, he scanned the system with practiced precision.

And there it was—a subtle sign of tampering. Dane's work wasn't sloppy enough to be accidentally discovered, which made one thing clear: Dane had wanted Thomas to find it.

Thomas's expression grew even darker as he opened the files, only to realize that his experiment logs had been accessed. As he dug deeper, he noticed something unusual—an unknown program hidden within the system.

He assumed, mistakenly, that it was some form of surveillance, similar to what he had installed on Bruce.

Attempting to neutralize the program, he triggered something unexpected: the sudden deletion of all research logs related to the Clown virus.

Thomas froze as the Joker's phantom burst into laughter, doubling over as though he would split in two.

A pop-up window appeared on the screen:

"Why.So.Serious?"

A second message followed:

"Smile, My.Friends."

The "S" at the end of "friends" made the Joker pause, his grin faltering. For the first time, he realized: Whoever this was, knew he existed.

Thomas stared at the screen, his confusion giving way to unease. He tentatively typed into the dialog box:

"Who are you? What do you want?"

The response came almost immediately:

"Don't rush, my friend."

"I know you're targeting Batman, but let's be honest—you're not going to kill him."

"Why not?"

"Because the Joker won't let you."

Thomas's gaze flickered toward the Joker, who was watching the exchange with amused curiosity. When he noticed Thomas looking at him, he flashed a wide, toothy grin.

"See? Told ya!" the Joker said smugly. "Batman's mine!"

More text appeared on the screen:

"You want Bruce Wayne dead. The Joker wants Gotham's Dark Knight to fall. But let's face it—Batman has faced countless crises, and every time, he's made the 'right' choice.

No matter how painful, no matter the cost, this is who Batman is: his will is nearly indestructible. Isn't it?"

The words stung, each line a taunt, a challenge.

Then, another message appeared:

"But have you ever considered this? Bruce Wayne is not without weaknesses."

Thomas's fingers hovered over the keyboard before typing a single question:

"What weakness?"

The response was chilling:

"Think carefully, my friend. Who was it that led to the birth of Batman?"

Thomas's breath caught as the message concluded:

"Let's see how the Dark Knight handles a true choice, Mr. Joker."

The dialog box closed, leaving only a countdown on the screen. Thomas clicked on the file it revealed—and what he saw made him stagger.

The Joker, who had been silent for once, broke into a slow, sinister laugh.

The plan was simple. It exploited the very core of Batman's existence.

Batman might be indestructible. But Bruce Wayne? He was still just a man. And his greatest weakness? The memory of the event that birthed the Dark Knight.

The death of the Wayne parent.

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