Like Deadpool in the DC Universe.

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In the dead of night, where the city lights danced over pavements soaked in fatigue and crime, Blade walked with steady steps through alleys and streets, reopening his chapters with madness once again.

This time, it wasn't just a joke or mere amusement—it was a genuine desire to reach the Joker… that clown who had disrupted the peace of everyone who ever got close to him.

He stopped one of the gang members at the corner of a dark street, pinning him hard until the man began to stammer in fear, before finally speaking:

"The Joker… he cares about a girl named Harley Quinn… They say she's the only one who ever managed to touch something inside him…"

Blade raised an eyebrow with interest, then leaned in closer, his voice lowering as if savoring the information:

"And do you know where I can find this Joker who claims to have a heart?"

The man replied in a trembling voice:

"He hangs out at an old bar on the east side of the city, called 'Midnight Laugh'… it's his favorite. He sometimes sits there talking to the walls… or to himself… who knows."

Blade smirked sarcastically, then said with mocking tone:

"Wonderful… a clown, a girl, and booze. Sounds like a romantic movie waiting for a bloody ending."

Then he asked:

"Describe that girl… Harley."

The man answered quickly:

"Blonde hair, split colors, weird outfit like a circus gymnast, heavy makeup, and her laugh… you'll never forget it."

Blade grinned slyly, muttering:

"Perfect… I'll know her when I see her… or hear her."

Then he shoved the gangster hard to the ground and said:

"Thanks for the service… don't forget to brush your teeth, looks like fear ruined their smell."

And with quick strides, he headed toward his new destination—the "Midnight Laugh" bar, where the tunes of madness play, and intentions are poured into glasses full of pretense.

Blade entered the bar quietly, as if carrying the night with his steps. The lights were dim, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and a history stained with crime.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the music stopped briefly, and the patrons' eyes turned toward him. Mixed looks of suspicion and curiosity—they could tell he wasn't one of them… not exactly.

He didn't care. He kept walking through the heavy silence, broken only by the sound of a loud laugh—exactly as the gangster had described:

A chaotic, insane laugh, carrying something incomprehensible… something close to nothingness.

Blade turned toward the source of the sound and stopped a few steps in when he saw her.

Harley Quinn was sitting at a side table, holding a colorful glass, flirting with a scruffy-haired man who clearly wasn't the Joker. He smiled shyly while she talked nonstop, as if the world revolved around her words.

Blade approached with measured steps, standing beside the table, staring at her without blinking.

He spoke in a calm but sharp tone:

"Are you… Harley Quinn?"

She looked up at him, blinked her glitter-painted eyes, gave a half-smile and said:

"And who's asking? An actor? Or a preacher?"

Blade replied sarcastically:

"Oh, just a messenger… carrying a small gift for your old friend… the clown who used to play with fire—the Joker."

She paused for a moment, eyes narrowing with suspicion:

"Haven't seen the Joker in a while… and if you came to torture him, please take a number."

Blade leaned in slightly and said with mockery:

"I have no intention of torturing him… I just want to see him… and give him a smile deeper than the ones he's used to."

She laughed again, then tilted her head and said:

"Sounds like you're not a fan… That makes us potential friends. But I don't give out addresses for free."

Blade took another step forward and said:

"And I don't hand out patience either, Harley… Tell me where he is, and you might get something better than that drink of yours."

She looked at him for a long moment, then tilted her head and tapped the rim of her glass with her finger:

"Intriguing… Follow me. Maybe I'll show you something—if you keep up this little performance."

Blade gave a faint, sarcastic smile and said:

"If this is a performance… then the play was written in blood."

Harley swayed off with her signature bounce, and Blade followed, as her laughter slowly faded into the dark hallway of the bar… where true madness might be waiting around the next corner.

Blade walked behind Harley Quinn with quiet steps, but his mind was ticking like a war machine. His eyes—or rather, his one sharp eye—was tracking every movement, every glance, every sway in her body.

He noticed a small tremble in her right hand… a subtle motion, but unnatural. Then, in a fleeting reflection, he caught a tiny metallic glint beneath her sleeve… a knife.

He kept walking without slowing down, as if he hadn't seen anything, while in his mind, a plan was forming—drawn in fractions of a second.

Harley stepped into one of the bar's dark side corridors, leaving behind the noise and neon lights... She moved lightly, then suddenly—without warning—she spun like a wild cat and lunged at him with a sharp knife, laughing as she screamed:

"To hell with you, handsome!"

But she struck nothing but air.

In an instant, with unbelievable agility, Blade had circled around her, grabbed her wrist, twisted her sharply, and pushed her against the wall with a rough gentleness. He pinned the knife from her hand while his other hand pressed firmly on her shoulder.

He raised his head slowly, and in heavy silence, he removed his mask with his right hand… revealing his handsome face, one eye blind and dim, the other a piercing blue like a dagger.

"Harley…" he said in a low, deep voice, laced with terrifying calm.

"If you think I'm stupid… then you haven't met real stupidity yet. But unfortunately for you, I'm not that."

Her breathing quickened, but she didn't look scared—more surprised… surprised by his reflexes, his eyes, that strange energy radiating from him.

She said, with a slightly dazed smile:

"Hmm… That was unexpected."

He replied:

"So was the stabbing attempt. But I learned a long time ago… laughter sometimes hides a blade. As for me—I laugh while putting a gun on the table."

He stepped back a little, let her go, then picked up the knife from the floor and threw it with terrifying precision toward one of the tables—where it lodged itself into the wooden leg.

He said:

"Now, for the last time… Where is the Joker?"

Harley paused for a moment, then brushed her shoulder and said:

"You're starting to grow on me now… Follow me, and I promise I won't stab you this time… at least, not from behind."

Blade smirked and said:

"Good. I never look back anyway."

Harley Quinn led Blade through narrow alleys and side streets known only to whores, killers, and clowns. She brought him to an empty place—an abandoned warehouse that time seemed to have forgotten, filled with damp air, cobwebs, and bad memories.

She stood in front of it and slowly turned around as she said:

"Listen, I really don't know where the Joker is… He leaves no trail, no messages—not even a dead rose. Every time… he's the one who finds me. He appears out of nowhere, laughs like a maniac, then vanishes like a bad dream."

Her tone was filled with a mix of longing… and pain. A fleeting moment of vulnerability slipping through the cracks of her madness.

Blade sighed, took a deep breath, then slowly put his mask back on and said with a cold, sarcastic tone:

"I'm sorry, kitty..."

She barely had time to react to his words before he lunged at her in a decisive moment. A precise strike to her neck, with expert precision, sent Harley Quinn into a quiet unconsciousness, as if she had fallen asleep without pain.

He lifted her body over his shoulder and muttered quietly, as if speaking to himself:

"If the answers won't come to me… I'll force them to. The Joker will learn… that Blade doesn't forget."

Inside that vast warehouse, where the only sounds were your own breath and the wind howling through broken windows, Blade sat on an old wooden crate, calmly cleaning his guns—a routine gesture that showed his intense focus and preparation for what was to come.

In front of him, Harley Quinn lay on the ground, her hands bound by thick rope, her head aching from the blow. She began to stir slowly, her eyes blinking open, scanning her surroundings.

She raised her head a little and saw Blade carefully placing his guns back into the holsters on his leather belt. Then he looked at her and said with a mocking tone:

"You know, there's always been something that piqued my curiosity about you... How can a woman who carries knives in every pocket, dressed like a clown, love something as simple as… cats?"

She raised her eyebrows, surprised, then her lips stretched into a wide grin, bordering on madness:

"Oh! Did you say cats? Cats are beautiful! Soft, evil, moody… they love you one minute and claw your eyes out the next! They're like women… like me!"

She suddenly burst into laughter, then began moving her head theatrically, as if performing on stage:

"I had a cat named Mister Bones, you know what was special about him? He used to hide in the fridge… yes, the fridge! Every time I opened it, his creepy face would be staring at me… Ah, it was a great day when he bit Joker right in the face!"

Blade let out a dry laugh, crossing one leg over the other:

"Just pictured it… must've been quite a sight. A cat avenging the world."

Harley nodded excitedly:

"Exactly! We all need a cat in our lives… or at least, someone who bites Joker in the face."

Blade pointed at her:

"Seems like you talk a lot when it comes to the things you love… That's very useful to me."

She paused for a moment, her eyes flashing with a hint of caution:

"Oh… don't start psychoanalyzing me! I had one of those—broke his nose. I don't like it when people try to understand me."

Blade replied as he slowly stood up and walked toward her:

"I'm not trying to understand you, Harley… I'm just listening. Because I know your words might lead me to what I want."

She looked at him with eyes that were half-serious, half-playful:

"And I know you want the Joker… but trust me, even if we talked about cats, chocolate, or my favorite nail polish color, you still wouldn't find a way to him… because he doesn't walk on roads to begin with."

He moved closer, sat in front of her, and spoke in a low voice, full of quiet confidence:

"But I will find him… and he'll open that door with his grim face, either to take you… or to see what I've done to you."

She shrugged and laughed:

"Ah, you're insane… but that's what I like in a man."

Blade chuckled lightly and said:

"Which explains your taste in the Joker."

Then he stood, walked a few steps, and raised his voice slightly:

"Let's see how much he really cares about you… If he gives a damn, he'll come. And if he doesn't… that means you're just a broken doll for a clown who's dead on the inside."

Harley stopped laughing. Her expression softened suddenly, like something struck deep inside her soul.

A moment of silence passed.

Then she whispered:

"You'll see…"

Blade smiled faintly as he turned toward the door, as if expecting the storm to arrive at any moment, and said:

"I'm waiting, Harley. And so are you."

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If you liked the story and want to read more

or just to support me, copy the link below.

You will find a special membership for:

3 chapter

 and another one for:

7 chapters.

patreon.com/zakx205

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