Harley Quinn

Bam! Biff! Pow! Zoom! Boom! Kachow!

Uh, these are just some of the noises you'll hear

when I beat your shockingly flat ass...

...if you don't spill where the hell Frank is.

Who's Frank?

You know damn well who Frank is,

and you better squeal, Richie Rich.

-You won't kill me. -Oh, and why's that?

Dead men tell no tales.

Oh, we'll see.

Ahh! Damn it!

You don't wanna talk, huh? Huh?

Oh, we've got ways to make you talk, pal.

Ivy, how do we make him talk? We have tried everything.

We need help.

You know, I too used to have a temper problem.

But with the help of Mayor Joker's

Passions, Not Prisons reform program,

I found an outlet for my judgmental rage,

hosting this very self-help podcast.

All right, next caller.

Hey, Doctor Psycho!

Uh, first time, long time, uh...

- My name is... Reign. -Oh.

- And I am having a personal crisis. -Mm-hmm.

Do I serve vengeance upon my foes in a merciless shower of death?

-Oh. -Or do I let it go and... and buy another pasta maker?

Well, Reign, that's a big Q, and one I will answer

after this ad.

Folks, why should Superman

be the only one with great underpants?

With new LexFlex technology, Lex--

Ah, Great!

You ruined a perfectly clean ad read, you shithead!

We'd literally come to anyone else if we could,

but we need your help, Psycho.

We need you, Doctor Psycho.

I'm listening.

Honestly, I learned more from watching Frasier

than I did from all of med school.

Shark! Ey!

Okay, this is so embarrassing,

but I honestly can't recall your name.

It's Clayface.

No, I'd remember if it's that stupid.

I got a client with a similar kink.

Woo, it's not for me, but I get the broader appeal.

Oh, hell no!

You didn't say you wanted to go into Bruce Wayne's mind.

He's the point-zero-one percent.

They're the real freaks.

Psycho, we're begging ya.

He stole Frank!

All right, I'll do it.

On one condition.

I want Harley

to guest on my pod.

That's right! She's a real get.

Besides, I'm getting crushed in downloads

by Killer Croc's weepy memoir show, I need the ratings.

Oh, I'm behind on Thick Skin. So, please no spoilers.

All right, Quinn. You in or what?

Yeah, whatever.

Thank you.

My producer Ben will be in touch.

All right, let's do this. Assume the position.

Look, I'm out of motion-sickness pills,

so I volunteer to watch the bodies.

All right, kids. It's showtime!

Ma-ma-ma-mamacita!

-Shit, that hurts. -Where are we?

Where is his Museum of Memories, like in my brain?

All I see is Gotham,

but grittier.

Okay, where can we find his latest memories?

Like, the most recent ones?

I don't know. Ask them.

Egad! It's him. The reason we came.

-Frank? -No!

Thomas Wayne!

And do my eyes deceive me or has he a mustache?

What other secrets has he been hiding?

There is so much I can learn from watching the man I shall be portraying

on the most important night of his life:

his death!

Any minute he'll walk into Crime Alley,

and then so too will his murderer!

Right, it's Joe Cool!

No, that's Joe Chill.

Joe Cool is when Snoopy wears those, like, sunglasses

and pretends to be a college student.

I thought Joe Cool was the camel that sold cigarettes to children.

No, That's Joe Camel,

and he doesn't--

Great. We missed it. Now they're dead.

Too busy arguing about fucking Snoopy.

Bruce!

Where the hell is Frank?

Ive, it's not happening. He's in a state of extreme trauma.

I'm also a doctor, and I second everything she just said.

Okay, so then this memory is useless.

We need to find a more recent one ASAP

and then see Frank for ourselves.

All right. Well, let's take his ride.

Where to, Master Not-Wayne?

Bruce's latest memory, and step on it!

As soon as we get to the memory, we then need to--

Ow! Fuck!

We've arrived.

Wait, what's going on here? What is this?

Huh...

So, uh...

Oh, were his parents murdered? I'm not quite getting it.

Could you show us a thousand more fucking times?

Oh, man, I cannot believe

we are being subjected to this

multiple times.

I've only read about this in journals.

Yeah, but what is this?

This is a reverse-repressed memory,

meaning Bruce Wayne's repressed every memory in his life,

except this one.

He's forever stuck in a memory loop

of his parents' murder.

God, it's hard not to feel sorry for the kid.

Well, guess what, I don't feel anything for him because the fucker stole Frank.

Let's be honest, you don't really need me for this part, so uno momento.

- Oh, Mr. Wayne. - A word, perhaps?

Oh, Mr. Wayne!

Ugh, come on. So close.

I was wondering if you could answer a few questions about--

Jesus! God!

Thomas, help me get into character.

How are you feeling just moments before your death?

My what?

You know what, this is my bad. You know why?

Because I actually thought that you could be useful, you useless fuck.

Harley, you need to deal with your woman, she's being a little--

Harley?

Are you shitting me?

Oof!

Close your eyes, kid.

Why the hell did you do that?

I thought if I stopped the kid from crying, he could help us.

Oh, God! Didn't you learn anything from last time?

You can't mess with a memory,

or else--

I beg you, Mr. Wayne, with your final breath,

tell me your life's motivation. What is your rosebud?

My rosebud is... is also a... sle...

A what? A what?

Also, a sleee what? A what? A what?

How'd it go?

I must call James Gunn immediately.

Harley?

Harley!

Why... Why isn't she waking up?

We need to go back in, we need to save her right now.

Nope, it's not gonna happen.

Bruce's brain is on lockdown,

but his subconscious must still want Harley for something.

The only way out now is from the inside.

Harley is on her own.

Oh, my God. What if... What if Joe Chill shoots her?

Die in the head, die for real.

The rules have stayed very consistent every time we do this.

Please be okay, Harley.

Please be okay.

God, you're heavy!

Okay. I know a fun game.

Hey! Hey, how about... How about you focus yourself

and you try and think of a different memory.

Preferably a happy one with, like, no murderers.

Uh, maybe mini-golf, or how about a merry go round?

All I see is darkness.

Okay. Come on, kid. We're improvising.

Ugh!

Oh!

Hey, you okay, kid?

-Where are we? -The darkness.

Yeah, so if this is gonna work, I'm gonna need ya

to not go all creepy-kid- in-a-horror-movie on me, okay?

-Bats are scary. -Yeah, you're telling me.

Hey, I know you're going through a lot right now.

But see, I got this friend named Frank that's missing,

and I wanna make sure he's okay.

Maybe you've seen him?

I don't know.

The fact that you can't even look at me kinda says you do.

My parents told me not to talk to strangers.

Yeah, well, they're...

gone now, so you can trust me.

I don't trust clowns with secrets.

I am barely clown-themed anymore,

I just think I look hot like this.

I mean, check how good these bootie shorts make my ass look, right?

Never mind, you're eight, okay.

I just wanna go home.

Hey, let's make a deal:

if I help you get back home, will you show me where my friend is?