Chapter 43: Chapter 43

At the interrogation room door, Daniel hesitated, his brow furrowed with worry. “Harleen, that bastard inside’s a violent fucking lunatic. You sure you wanna go in there alone? I can stand guard, keep an eye on him.”

Harleen shook her head, a confident smirk tugging at her lips. “He’s chained up like a dog, Daniel. Besides, with you looming over us like some brooding prison overlord, how’s he supposed to open up? I need him raw, unguarded, not clamming up because the big bad warden’s breathing down his neck.”

She reached into her sleek leather satchel and pulled out a small, high-tech device, waving it in front of Daniel’s face. “Same as always—kill every damn camera in there. Even the hidden ones. I’ll know if you don’t.”

Daniel let out a frustrated groan, running a hand through his thinning hair. “Jesus Christ, Harleen, you’re a fucking hardass.” Her laser detector was no joke; she’d catch any active surveillance in a heartbeat. He nodded, defeated. “Fine, you win. Cameras are off.”

Stepping into the interrogation room, Harleen noted the transformation. The earlier mess—spilled water, toppled chairs—was gone, replaced by an eerie calm. A vase on the table even held a single blood-red rose, its petals stark against the sterile gray walls. She sat across from Jason, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, studying him like a predator sizing up prey. “Hello, Mr. Walter,” She said, her voice warm but calculated, a therapist’s perfect pitch.

Jason’s lips twisted into a sly, almost sinister grin. “Well, hello there, Harleen… Dr. Quinzel, right?” His tone dripped with familiarity, like they were old friends sharing a dirty secret.

Harleen’s brow arched, surprise flickering across her face. “You know me, Mr. Walter?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jason chuckled, leaning as far forward as his cuffs allowed. “I’ve known about you for a long damn time, Harleen.”

She nodded, unfazed, her curiosity piqued. “Well, that’s interesting. I’ve got a gut feeling this little chat of ours is going to be… productive.”

—

Fifth Floor, Prison Control Room

Daniel paced like a caged tiger, his boots thudding against the linoleum. Three fucking hours. Harleen had been in there with that psycho for three hours—nobody had lasted more than thirty minutes with Jason’s razor-sharp tongue. A guard, a wiry kid with a nervous twitch, spoke up. “Uh, boss? Dr. Quinzel’s been in there forever. What if something’s wrong? That guy’s a fucking nutcase.”

Daniel’s eyes flared with rage, his fists clenching. “Jason, you piece of shit, if you lay a finger on her, I’ll make you wish you were dead!” He roared, his voice echoing off the monitors. He pictured Harleen’s perfect face, her sharp intellect, and the thought of Jason hurting her made his blood boil.

The guard hesitated. “Should we… turn on the cameras? Just to check?”

“No fucking way!” Daniel snapped, his face reddening. “She’s got that damn laser gadget. If she catches even a hint of surveillance, she’ll tear me a new one. I’m not pissing her off.”

The guard shook his head, biting back a smirk. Daniel was a tyrant with the inmates, a real hardass who ruled Long Island Prison like a medieval warlord. But with Harleen? He was a simpering puppy, too spineless to even ask her out. ’One hell of a woman,’ the guard thought. ’She’s got him wrapped around her finger.’

—

Interrogation Room

Inside, the air crackled with an unexpected chemistry. Harleen and Jason were deep in conversation, their words flowing like a dance, oblivious to the hours slipping by. Harleen leaned forward, one leg crossed over the other, her chin propped on her hand, utterly captivated. “So that’s your grand vision,” She said, her voice tinged with fascination. “A world run by your rules. Gotta say, it’s… compelling.”

Jason’s eyes gleamed, his expression deadly serious. “Yeah, Harleen. A world where the weak don’t get crushed, where the real players call the shots. I’m curious, though…” He paused, his gaze locking onto hers. “What do you think about it, Dr. Quinzel? You in?”

Before she could respond, a translucent system interface flickered to life in front of Jason, invisible to her. The notifications hit like a shot of adrenaline:

[Ding! Accomplice ’Franklin Clinton’ has killed 37 NYPD officers, earning 3700 Villain Points. Current progress: 5815/6000.]

[Ding! Accomplice ’Franklin Clinton’ has injured 165 NYPD officers and civilians, earning 4125 Villain Points. Current progress: 9940/6000.]

[Ding! Congratulations, Host has reached Level 7. Rewarded 10 Attribute Points. Current progress: 3940/7000.]

Jason’s smirk widened, a surge of pride rushing through him. ’Stan, Franklin, you beautiful bastards. You fucking delivered.’ He mentally allocated the points, pumping 5 into Strength and 5 into Endurance—key for healing the bruises and cuts still nagging at his body.

[Level: 7 (3940/7000)]

[Strength: 48 → 53]

[Agility: 40 → 40]

[Endurance: 45 → 50]

[Intelligence: 40 → 40]

[Remaining Attribute Points: 0]

[Reputation: 411 → 784]

[Accomplices: Franklin Clinton, Norman Stansfield (Next recruitment requires 1000 Reputation)]

[Points: 43]

[Abilities: Combat Mastery (Level 6), Driving Mastery (Level 3), Firearms Mastery (Level 6), Melee Weapons Mastery (Level 2)]

[Store: Click Here]

Harleen glanced at her watch, her eyes widening. “Shit, we’ve been at this for hours!” She grabbed her satchel, standing with a reluctant smile. “Mr. Walter, this was… enlightening. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick this up.”

She paused at the door, turning back. “Anything you want me to bring tomorrow?”

Jason leaned forward, his voice low and teasing. “Anything I want, huh?”

Harleen hesitated, then nodded, her confidence unshaken. “Yeah. Name it.”

His face turned serious, his eyes burning with intent. “That world I told you about? I want you by my side to make it real. You game, Harleen?”

Her breath caught, her composure cracking for the first time. The brilliant, unflappable Dr. Quinzel flushed, her fingers nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Mr. Walter, are you… hitting on me?” She asked, half-laughing, half-flustered.

Jason’s grin turned wicked, his voice dripping with charm. “You know exactly what I mean, Doc.”

Her hands clenched, her mind racing. She understood his offer—an invitation to join his twisted, anarchic empire. And for a fleeting moment, her heart pounded with a dangerous thrill, a reckless urge to dive headfirst into his chaos. She stared at her high heels, lost in thought, the weight of the decision pressing down on her.

Ten minutes later, she looked up, her lips curving into a breathtaking, dangerous smile. “Alright, Jason. I’m in.”

[Ding! Villain Accomplice Recruitment Successful.]

[Accomplice: Harleen Quinzel (Harley Quinn)]

[Source: Suicide Squad]

[Abilities: Driving Mastery (Level 2), Firearms Mastery (Level 3), Melee Weapons Mastery (Level 1), Criminal Psychology (Level 7), Interpersonal Relations (Level 5)…]

—

Outside the interrogation room, Daniel was waiting like a loyal dog, his face lighting up when Harleen emerged. “You okay, Harleen? Everything go alright in there?”

She flashed a disarming smile. “Better than alright. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Daniel’s heart skipped, a goofy grin spreading across his face. ’Hell yeah, I get to see her again.’ Maybe Jason wasn’t such a useless prick after all.

As they walked toward the exit, the prison erupted into chaos. Guards sprinted past, radios blaring with panicked chatter. Harleen raised an eyebrow, and Daniel explained, “NYPD headquarters just got blown to shit. The mayor’s freaking out, pulling cops from every department to help. We’re sending 300 guards from here to back them up.”

Harleen’s lips twitched into a knowing smirk. “Interesting.”

They parted ways outside the office building, and Harleen’s eyes caught Stan climbing into his car. She sprinted over, yanking open the passenger door and sliding in without a word.

Stan blinked, confused as hell. “Uh, miss, who the fuck are you?”

Harleen buckled her seatbelt, her voice calm but commanding. “Jason sent me. Said you and Franklin did a damn fine job with the police station.”

Stan’s blood ran cold, his hands tightening on the wheel. “Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get the hell out of my car.”

She laughed, unfazed, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Relax, Stan. Drive. I’m staying in South Manhattan. I’ll explain everything on the way.”

.

.

.

.

You can read advance Chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

pat reon.com/GreenBlue17

200 Power Stones for 1 extra Chapter.

5 New reviews for 1 extra Chapter.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep