Harley Quinn: Virtuoso of Villainous Glee by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Harley-Quinn-Virtuoso-of-Villainous-Glee-1234614233

Harley Quinn: Virtuoso of Villainous Glee ANIM

The Laughing Dirge of Chrome and Silk

The night was red velvet and broken glass. Gotham’s skyline bled neon, each reflection trembling across the oily rain that sheeted down the warehouse district. Somewhere beyond the rattle of thunder and steel, a faint laugh lilted through the air—light as perfume, sharp as razors.

Harley Quinn strolled through the skeletal corridors of the old Ace Chemicals annex, the echo of her boots a teasing rhythm against the cracked tiles. Her mallet rested over her shoulder like a lover’s arm. She was smiling, of course—though tonight, the smile carried a trace of unease, a shimmer of something almost human.

The place had been quiet for weeks. Too quiet. Then the whispers came. Punchline, the new queen of cruelty, had been nesting here. And with her—machines. Winged things with eyes that never blinked.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Harley muttered, brushing a damp strand of blonde and pink hair from her cheek. “You always did like to make an entrance, sugarplum.”

A soft hum vibrated through the rafters above her, like the wings of a thousand locusts.

The first drone descended from the shadows.

It wasn’t human, not quite. It moved like an angel in a nightmare, its wings a mesh of black steel and glass feathers that caught the light like oil on water. Its face—if it could be called that—was smooth chrome, split by a single crimson visor. It tilted its head, regarding her as though measuring her pulse.

“Well, ain’t you a pretty lil’ toaster,” Harley cooed. “Did Punchy build you herself, or did she just whisper sweet nothings into a blender till somethin’ crawled out?”

The drone’s chest split open, revealing a core that pulsed blue like a beating heart. Then it screamed—a digital shriek that shook dust from the ceiling—and launched.

Harley rolled aside as the thing crashed into the floor where she’d been standing, her mallet swinging in a graceful arc that smashed against its flank. Sparks erupted like fireflies. The drone staggered back, its wings fanning open in a whirr of knives.

“Guess you’re not programmed for manners!” she said, grinning.

The creature lunged again, claws unfolding into elegant scythes. Harley ducked beneath its slashes, twisting, her mallet spinning like a dancer’s baton. She struck its knee joint, then vaulted over it, landing lightly atop a crate. The drone stumbled, then reoriented with eerie precision.

“You know,” she panted, “I kinda miss the old days. Y’know—gas bombs, crowbars, bats with bad tempers. These new toys, they ain’t got any soul.”

A voice slithered through the dark, soft and melodic.

“Then maybe I’ll build you one, Harley. Would you like that? A soul in your shape?”

Punchline stepped from the shadows like ink sliding off silk. Her violet hair shimmered under the emergency lights. The smile painted on her lips was precise—mathematical, cruel.

“Alexis, honey!” Harley beamed, though her grip on the mallet tightened. “You didn’t tell me you were hosting a little soirée. I’d have brought cupcakes—or maybe a flamethrower.”

Punchline’s eyes glittered. “You were always about chaos for its own sake. Noise and glitter. But chaos is only beautiful when it’s controlled.”

Another drone unfurled from the ceiling, then another. Six in total now, wings spread in an eerie formation around her. The air filled with the electric scent of ozone.

“Let me guess,” Harley said, glancing around. “You got bored of journaling your feelings, so now you build murder butterflies?”

“They’re not murder butterflies.” Punchline walked closer, boots clicking like metronome beats. “They’re art. Precision. Each one is attuned to a frequency—mine. They listen when I whisper. Can your chaos do that?”

Harley’s grin wavered just a touch. “Oh, puddin’, you really think I need anyone to listen? I make my own music.”

The drones screamed again, and the air turned molten.

They swarmed like wasps, slicing through the room. Harley ducked, twisted, spun between their movements. Her mallet clanged against steel feathers, splintering sparks into the air. One of the drones clipped her shoulder—she hissed, the fabric of her red-and-black jacket tearing open. Blood mingled with rainwater.

Punchline circled the chaos like a priestess at her altar. “You’re not fast enough anymore, Harley. You’ve gotten sentimental.”

“Maybe I just learned not to k
...(more at https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai).
For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)