So , yeah. Sorry doesn't even cut it at this point. But yeah, I'm sooooo sorry. I ran into writers block and I've been super busy but I'm sure you don't really care about that so I'm not gonna go into it. I'm sure you were expected this to be a lot longer, but this is what I managed to come up with. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Wally cursed.

Yeah, that wasn't normally his thing.

But he totally knew this guy.

Seriously, when your best friend was the Dark Knight's protégé, you learn to recognize a few people. Like this one.

Wally was just grateful that Dick thought ahead and gave them those gas masks. Things were about to get ugly.

Beside him, Artemis' bow was taunt and ready to fire. "Distraction from what?"

The lunatic giggled. Giggled. Like a little school girl with a crock full of secrets. "Oh, no no no. If I told you that then the surprise would be ruined."

"I hate surprises," she grumbled, scowling.

Kid Flash was vibrating now, eager to finish this and find M'gann. The link had yet to come back up and not knowing if his teammates were okay was making the fastest boy alive very nervous. "There's not gonna be a surprise, bag-face! This ends here!"

The man didn't giggle this time. He full out laughed. Snickers turned to cackles turned to chortles until the ten-screws-too-loose maniac was gasping for breath. Those leering brown eyes shot toward them, gleaming with promises of evil and pain. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice deep and breathy. "Brats. I'm already done here."

Tense and no doubt as afraid as he was, Artemis loosed the arrow under her fingers, watching him duck under it even as she was aiming another one. The barrage of arrows did little to stop him, however, as he proved to be far more flexible than they expected. Kid Flash raced forward, grabbed his arms, and spun around in a whirlwind until he had the criminal pinned to the stone wall with his arms locked behind his back. "Not so tough now, are you?" Wally gloated.

The man turned his head, slow and deliberate. There was a grin on his face. In the dark, he looked like the devil.

"Wally!"

Kid Flash jumped back like he'd been struck, missing the brunt of the knife that came at him as the man twisted and broke the Flash-boy's hold. With more space, now, the knife finished its arc with silver flourish, slicing into Wally's arm even as he stumbled away. Artemis resumed her volley of arrows to cover for him and, finding his footing, he sped backwards until he was beside her again. The wound dripped red between his fingers, but all in all, he considered himself extremely lucky. The female archer had saved his life.

But the lunatic was dodging projectiles like he had done it before (and he probably had), and even when they found their mark, they didn't seem to faze him.

"You...Damn…Freak…" Artemis growled, loosing arrows with each word. "Hold still!"

He was laughing again, a hand on his hat as he came steadily closer. "Are you trying to beat me? You'll have to do better than that."

She snarled. Her tempo increased.

And Kid Flashed watched. He waited, tense, vibrating, ready for the moment when—

There.

He spotted the opening in his opponent dance and shot forward, seizing the moment before it was gone. With the man's body turned the way it was, his back was exposed. It was the perfect opportunity to—

He stopped dead.

The lunatic was looking right at him, a cartridge raised in his left hand.

Kid Flash was no idiot. He spent enough time with Dick to know what that was. And oh shit we're in trouble.

"MASKS!"

He didn't think it was enough of a warning. The mask was on his face a spilt second before the cartridge burst open and hit the ground. He was turned around and sprinted toward Artemis before he could determine what color the gas was.

But the archer was no idiot. She hadn't even needed the warning to have her mask out and on her face. Wally grabbed her around the waist and then they were darting out the iron doors behind them and down the dank stone hall that had brought them to that hell hole what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Kid Flash could feel the gas pursue them. Could hear the steady footsteps follow in their wake. Could sense the piercing gaze of a madman burning through their skulls.

In an instant, he was down the hall and back in the maximum security ward. Skidding to a halt, he turned on his heels to figure out what this enemy's next move would be.

The man was standing in the doorway beneath the warning sign. Lights from outside shone through the narrow windows from behind, casting an eerie glow on the white gas that billowed in clouds around him. Head cocked, hands clasped, grin wide, he looked like a demon poised before the gates of hell.

"End of the road, buddy!" Artemis growled.

The man chortled. And a sudden, sinking feeling churning in their guts.

"Take a peek outside before you start counting your crows."

Then Wally heard it. In the dead silence of the Asylum, gunfire and screams drifted toward them from the stone doors behind. The doors leading outside, where the police were waiting.

Distracted, Artemis didn't see the knife hurtling toward her until it was too late to stop it. As if time had frozen, Wally waited for the impact. For the inevitable bloodshed and death of his beloved teammate. The silver blade twisted in the dark, humid air, its path as straight as a bullet. And he moved to stop it but it was too late, nothing he did could stop it now and no no NO! It can't end here—

And it struck.

The archer's gas mask went flying. The knife sliced true across her cheek before clattering to the ground somewhere behind them. Crimson blood streamed from the wound, but that was the least of her worries.

Kid Flash whipped back around to face the man. "You missed," he uttered, stunned.

"I didn't miss, stupid boy. I hit right where I intended."

And suddenly, Artemis was screaming beside him.

He panicked, grabbing her arms as she curled up on the cold stone floor and cried, yelled, screamed at some unseen enemy.

He could do nothing, though. The gas had claimed her now. He had seen what this man could do to Dick. And he felt helpless. Utterly, completely helpless.

And then the screams and gunfire outside were becoming savage and he knew the gas had already seeped through the doors and tainted the Gotham air.

"What did you do?"

There was a grin pulling at the stitches in the sacking of his face. The noose around his neck swayed as he walked. One bony hand was stuffed in his black overcoat while the other tipped the ragged brown hat atop his head in a mock sort of greeting.

"I'm Scarecrow, little boy. I did what I do best."

Another cartridge was raised.

But Wally had taken Artemis and was already gone, a flash in the grim, raging storm, as the man called Scarecrow turned the blockade outside into holocaust.

Connor cursed.

The temptation to leap through that hole and into the fray was almost too much to resist. He was born—created—to fight. Gotham was a blood bath and he knew that he could do something about it. But at the same time…

He looked back down at M'gann and Kaldur, still unconscious and in need of medical attention that he could not provide.

He had to choose: fail his team or fail his mission.

Well, the decision was obvious.

He just needed someone to handle the mess outside.

Raising his hand to his ear, he activated the comm. link Robin had given him earlier. "Superboy to Robin, have you found the others yet?"

He waited for a moment. Static. No answer.

"Robin, there's a breach in the wall. Did you find the others?"

Still nothing.

He shoved down the dread that had slowly begin to crawl up his spine.

"Robin!"

But there was no need to panic. He was Robin. He probably just had his hands full at the moment and would answer in a minute.

Two minutes.

He's fine.

Five minutes.

He's Batman's protégé, for god's sake.

Ten minutes.

But isn't that what we said last time?

"Dammit!" Connor growled and smashed his fist into the adjacent wall, sending dust flying.

He needed to find the others. But M'gann and Kaldur needed help. But the others could be dying and he couldn't just leave half his team. He needed to…he needed…

He needed help.

Growling again, he grabbed his two unconscious teammates, apologized in his head

—To who? He couldn't say. Robin. M'gann. His leader. His mission. Everything—and leaped through the hole in the wall, out into the raging, screaming night.

GCPD was way in over their heads. Guns blazed, lighting up the night like some macabre firework show. Looking down on them from Arkham's roof, they looked like ants struggling to defend their territory. And the ants were losing. The longer he watched, the further back the blockade was pushed, until they were stretched taunt and thin like rubber about to snap.

The storm on the charcoal horizon was getting closer. Wind whipped sideways at the Asylum, sending the screams and smoke further into the city. Darkness settled deep into Gotham's bones, the squall shrieked with wild laughter, and humid air smelled of fire and death.

Connor resisted the urge to shiver as he climbed higher up the roof until he found a relatively flat and stable area. Sighing, he lowered his unconscious teammates onto the dirty stone. He didn't want to leave them here, but no where else in the city was safer now. Even if the criminals could climb to the roof, they would be traveling as far from Arkham as they could. He had no other choice, if he wanted to find the rest of his team.

He measured their pulses and made sure they were breathing adequately before standing again and sliding back to the edge of the roof.

There was a hole in the blockade now, where criminals were slipping past the SWAT teams and into the city. The snipers were trying to pick them off, but too many were getting away.

This storm was about to bring a massacre with it.

But dammit he had to find his team.

With scowl on his face and fear in his eyes, Superboy grabbed one of the stone gargoyles' head and launched himself back through the whole. The fighting outside became muted, though not enough to block it out.

Those where the screams of dying men. There was the laughter of insanity. That was the wind of hell upon them. And Connor could do nothing to stop it.

So instead, he tore across the now empty east wing and through the wide-open doorway into the north. There were only a couple of criminals actually in Arkham now, but with a swift punch, Superboy made short work of them. The hallways were dark and silent. He felt as though reality had shifted and he was in some altered dimension, where the world was dead and the shadows were his only companions.

"Robin," he called into the comm. link again. "Where are you?"

Still nothing but static.

"Dammit, Robin, answer me!"

His shifted reality theory was beginning to sound incredibly plausible.

But ten minutes later, he wasn't alone anymore.

Robin's voice cracked through the comm. link. From the sound of it, he had switched channels and was now broadcasting to all of JL.

"Robin to League." Superboy stopped. There was something off about his voice.

"Someone. *cough* Anyone. There's a…a breach in the Asylum. My team's—ah, shit—my team's separated. We need…need help. P-please."

Robin cursed.

Worry gnawed at his mind like a little troll. He trusted his team; that wasn't what had him on edge. It was the fact that they had no idea what they were up against. Despite what they must think, he did, in fact, remember their last Gotham mission and how dangerously close to the edge they had come.

You know, that edge where you're looking down and your stomach drops because you can't see worth crap and you just know that you'll be dead before you hit the bottom but there's no way you're not going to fall.

He was sure he would loose his team that day. And that's the worst part, isn't it? Not the death part, but the part where you realize that they're going to die, too, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Sort of like now.

He realized that this mission felt a lot like the last one. The only difference was that before, they only had to deal with Clayface. This time, it was half of Gotham's crazies. Arkham was a problem for him and Batman on a good day. This was one of the worst breakouts he had seen, and he had no idea who caused it or why or where they were now. He hated not knowing. But it was worse this time, because his team was all separated and they had no idea what Arkham Asylum can do to a person. He had to find them.

This was a disaster. Heavy on the 'dis'.

And Batman was going to kill him when this was over.

Of course, he wouldn't complain. He deserved any punishment the Bats would dish out. He had failed his team. Again. This was just like…

Just like the last mission.

He shook his head and pushed that grim thought away. It wouldn't end like that. He wouldn't let it.

First thing's first. He had to find Wally and Artemis. Which was easier said than done, considering he didn't even know if they had made it to the north wing's front entrance. It wasn't a matter of trust, or even faith, but reality. And they were about as in tune with Gotham's reality as the Joker was with theirs.

The more time passed, the less likely he was to find them. With so many loose criminals in Arkham, anything could happen. But as he continued on through north wing, incapacitating convicts as he went, he realized that the asylum had become emptier. Stagnant. For a building full of liberated loons, he would almost call it…

…quiet.

And god, did that scare him.

Because really, he could only draw one conclusion from that. They were getting out. Somewhere. Either they had found a way through the main entrance (which meant Wally and Artemis had failed, which meant the freak who caused all this had gotten away, which meant they could be hurt and bleeding and dying and god please no…), or the convicts where getting out somewhere else (and if it were any other situation, he would have thrown that theory out the window simply because the Arkham walls were so tough, but the fact that they were already in the middle of a breach compelled him to keep it in mind; that explosion earlier wasn't helping to calm his mind either). Either way, things had just gone from worse to hell.

Because they had skipped over 'bad' the moment they walked through those doors.

So he kept going, fighting and searching with ragged breathing and a pounding heart while he hoped and reasoned and prayed that they were okay. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, having spent countless nights patrolling the gloomy Gotham streets, but an ominous shadow had fallen over Arkham that no amount of pupil dilation was going to fix. He had felt this before, just before his parents fell.

Something was rotten in the city of Gotham.

He heard voices a split second before he reached the end of the hallway and quickly skid to a stop. Softly, he inched along the wall at an angle where the darkness devoured him whole and listened to the conversation around the corner.

"I would get out of those clothes if I were you, Paine," a woman drawled, her voice heavy Brooklyn and awfully familiar. "Some cons might mistake you for the fuzz." Her laugh boomed, wild and loud, and filled up the ward like carbon monoxide.

"Pretty sure that's the least of m' worries." A male voice, tense and eager. Paine? "Do you think the schizophrenic is already gone? Don't really feel like getting gassed by him tonight," the male grumbled. Robin wasn't sure who he was referring to, but she certainly knew.

"You don't worry about him," she snapped. "Just get your damn job done and he won't even know you're here."

It hit him suddenly, like a ton of bricks. He knew exactly who she was and if he was right (which he was never really wrong), then they were in deeper shit than he originally thought. He had to find his team. This mission was taking a dangerous new path.

"It is done," the man whined. "Got it all right here."

Robin's brain was running a mile a minute. Got what? This wasn't just a jailbreak. Distraction. Covering for something else. But how many players are involved? This was more than he was prepared to deal with.

The woman cackled again. Then she snarled, "Get, then! Or do you wanna get caught by Bats?"

The man yelped something along the lines of "Yes, ma'am" and took off, his panicky footsteps disappearing with an echo down the next hallway.

Robin juggled the pros and cons of just letting the woman go. He still had to find his friends. But judging from the tone of her voice, she knew more than any of the other bozos running around and would probably prove useful. She snickered before moving to run down the hall. Making a split-second decision, he grabbed a bat-a-rang from his belt and flung it through the darkness. It whistled as it cut across the chilled asylum air before embedding in the wall an inch from the fleeing woman's face. She shrieked in shock, turning wide eyes on the black bat weapon sticking out of the wall like a dagger.

"Next time, I won't miss," Robin avowed, voice calm and clear.

A broad grin broke across her face before she spun on her heels to face the direction his voice had come. "Aww puddin', you don't mean that!"

He ignored her and fingered another batarang. "I know for a fact that you broke out six months ago. So what are you doing here?"

Her toothy smile reminded him distinctly of the Joker. "Wouldn't ya like t' know!" she cried, followed by a shriek of bloodcurdling laughter.

His fists clenched. He did not have time for this. "Enough games, Quinn."

She slapped her hands onto her hips and leaned forward, winking at him through thick black eye shadow and white face paint and red lipstick smeared across her lips like blood. "You're just a sore loser."

"Only when I don't know all the rules."

"Well then maybe you should stop playin'," she shot back, grinning wildly. Her dark eyes glinted with sharp awareness, like a farmer might study a hog just before he killed it. She knew something; she also knew that he would know that she knew, but that he didn't know what, which was the only reason she was letting him know that she knew.

As if this mission wasn't complicated enough. Now Robin had lunatics leading him in circles like a dog chasing squirrels. He had the sudden urge to lunge at Quinn and beat her over the head with a club. As it was, he settled for ignoring her. "So, come to break out the Joker?"

She shook her head violently and the bells of her limp, black and red jester's hat tinkled dully. "No no no! I don' work for Mistah J no more! I got me a new boss."

Robin arced an eyebrow, intrigued. "And who would that be?"

"Wouldn't ya like t' know!" she shrieked again. Robin smashed down the urge to rub his temples. He needed to end this.

Now.

Before she could so much as yelp, he lunged forward, whipped out his staff, and swung it at the female criminal. She jumped back with surprisingly quick reflexes and drew a stainless steel, .44 magnum revolver, aiming it point blank at the bird. Robin quickly back flipped, dogging as the gun fired repeatedly. He hadn't found his feet beneath him when Harley rushed forward and threw herself at him, flooring them both and knocking the wind out of the ill-prepared bird. He belatedly noticed the knife in her right hand and panicked images of the last mission flooded his brain. No. This couldn't happen again. Because this time, his team wasn't there to save him. This time, his team needed the saving. He had to be there. He couldn't fail again.

But shit,that knife was plunging toward him and Harley had a grin on her face like the devil and he could practically smell death in the air—

Agony exploded through his right shoulder, burning like fire and magma and hell; a strangled cry ripped from his throat before he could shove it down, and he hated giving her the pleasure of hearing him scream, but damn did it hurt. Before his mind could catch up with his body, Quinn was leaning forward and her lips were crushing his with lustful violence.

He froze.

Harley didn't.

His breaths came harsh and wild as she straddled his hips, resting on him in a way that sent his heart hammering and his hormones racing. Slowly, she laid herself across his lean body, with her curves molding into his as her breasts rested shamelessly across his chest. He jerked away, disgusted and nauseous, but she grabbed his face with both hands and seized his mouth again while her fingernails dug bloody welts on his skin. He tried to look away, to escape, to fight her, but dammit his body was betraying him and his mind was a mess as Arkham became a rush of contact and lust.

She pulled away long enough to whisper in his ear. "Don' tell the boss man. He won' be too happy wit' me." Then she had his lips again and he was lost.

Her tongue forced its way down his throat, long and slimy and greedy. He tried not to gag as it explored his oral cavity fervently. Her body was crushing his and her hair was in his face, smelling like peppermint and filth in an overwhelming, repulsive blend. Her mouth tasted like rot and rank Gotham air but for the life of him he couldn't make his arms work to push her off. Suddenly, her tongue retracted and her grimy yellow teeth tore into his bottom lip like an animal. He could feel salty blood roll down his chin and into his mouth as she continued to chew on the soft flesh.

Her hands finally moved from his face and ventured down until they found the bottom of his red vest. He gathered enough of his wits to try and roll her off, but found with terrifying shock that he suddenly couldn't move. Seeing his face, Harley giggled and fingered his bleeding lip. "Oh, no no no, little bird," she breathed, hand moving back to grope his firm torso and chest with a violent, insatiable touch. "You're all mine."

Panic became dread. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. His team was out there somewhere, separated and fighting and maybe even dying, and he was here with—

She fingered the hem of his vest again before ripping it open ravenously. It caught on the dagger, though, which still burned in his right shoulder, and Robin groaned as it jerked the wound open further. Growling, Quinn grabbed the weapon and wrenched it out, tossing it across the hall. He screamed in agony, but the jester cut the sound off when her large lips latched to his again and her tongue fought its way back into his mouth.

The bare skin of her chest and legs rubbed against his now as her clothes quickly followed Robin's vest onto the floor. Her hands inched their way down his chest, his stomach, his hips; they played with the edge of his pants before slipping underneath and groping the sensitive flesh there. He bucked against her now, his body betraying his mind, and she cackled hysterically whilst making short work of the rest of his clothes.

Her teeth nibble and drew blood. Her fingers played where they didn't belong.

The night was suddenly hot, too hot.

He was sweaty and moaning and burning as she had her way with him and he gasped when her fingers and teeth and body became painful but he was a traitor, a traitor, as she tempted him and forced him inside and…

—please, god please stop it—

…but he became one with her long after the paralytic wore off and he was a traitor to himself, his team, his father…

—god I'm sorry, please forgive me please—

…and he wept shamefully as her body rubbed against his and her stench made him gag and the walls were too close and the night was too long and he was burning on the inside—

…

She was laughing.

Sharp and insane.

She was sitting up now, straddling his hips. Her fingers were on his face again, wiping at his tears like some lover-bastardization. She ran her fingers through his hair and he raised his dazed eyes from her chest to her face. They locked and she grinned even wider.

Then she leaned forward, digging her fingers deep into the knife wound that was still bleeding. His lips parted to scream, but his voice was gone now. Licking her lips like an animal, she whispered, "I'm impressed, Bird Boy. You're a better ride than I expected."

Robin snapped.

Snarling, he raised his legs and kicked nailed her in the stomach. She yelped in surprise, sailing across the hall before the wall broke her fall with a loud smack.

He rolled to his side and struggled onto hands and knees, but weakness and panic sent them buckling beneath his weight and he collapsed in a heap to the floor.

She cackled as she rose unsteadily from the floor. He knew she had to be in pain but insanity glinted in her dark eyes. Her face paint was smeared and sweaty now. She was covered in blood and bodily fluids but she grinned and screeched like the devil.

"F-fucking wh-whore," he gasped out.

She winked at him. Her tongue snaked between her lips and across her fingers, lapping at the blood from the wound she had previously been probing.

Robin shivered violently.

Harley Quinn leered.

Turning, she shoved her heels on, picked up her clothes, and strode shamelessly back the way she has come.

So, um...yeaaaah. I tried my hand a non-graphic sex (am I even allowed to say that word on this site? Lol). I don't really like the way it turned out. But thank you for being incredibly patient with me! Please review and give me feedback! Thank you!