(T/N: There is now a p.atreon for this work, and any new work I add will be dropped there first. check it out for an early release of up to 30 chapters edited smoothly. https://www.p.atreon.com/INeedRest)
T/N: Guys, please leave some reviews on webnovel. We need 10 reviews for it to get traction.
****
Harleen assumed that the name "Quinn" must have held some hidden significance to Allen—maybe a sentimental memory or a deeper meaning.
Otherwise, he wouldn't just say it like that when he was trying to give her a nickname.
But his response was unexpectedly simple.
"I like it" he couldn't possibly tell her it was what she was known for in his previous world now, could he?
"What?" she was confused.
"Like I said, I just think it suits you better."
She stared at him, unconvinced.
She didn't believe him, not for a second.
Still, Allen casually brushed off her skepticism and steered the conversation in a different direction.
"More importantly, do you know about Gotham's current situation?"
Harleen shook her head; he wasn't going to answer her seriously.
"Sigh…"
Suppressing the urge to question him further, Harleen instead began to explain, her tone darkening.
"Chaos. Total chaos. Gotham has completely fallen apart."
Bane had taken over Wayne Enterprises, securing all of its cutting-edge technology and critical resources.
He had twisted an experimental fusion reactor—originally intended to provide clean, limitless energy—into a ticking nuclear bomb capable of leveling the entire city.
Then, by strategically detonating explosives in the sewer systems, he crippled the Gotham City Police Department, trapping most of its force underground with no escape.
And the carnage didn't stop there.
During a nationally televised football game, Bane made a brutal statement to the world.
He executed Dr. Leonid Pavel—the only person who knew how to disable the bomb—right there on live television.
To tighten his grip, he blew up most of the city's bridges, isolating Gotham from the outside world.
Only one bridge remained intact.
The federal government tried to respond, but Bane held them hostage with a chilling threat: anyone who attempted to flee or interfere would trigger the bomb's detonation.
With no official authority left to maintain order, Gotham spiraled into lawlessness.
The riot at Blackgate Penitentiary turned the streets into a battlefield.
Criminals ran unchecked, looting stores, settling grudges, and killing without consequence.
The city's elites, once secure in their ivory towers, were dragged from their homes and hauled into makeshift courts.
And who presided over these grim theatrics? Jonathan Crane—the Scarecrow.
Once a respected professor of psychology, Crane had become a twisted chemist obsessed with fear.
Armed with his notorious fear toxin, he forced victims to confront their worst nightmares before subjecting them to mock trials.
The outcomes were always the same: exile or death.
These executions, dressed up as justice, were little more than public spectacles done in the name of Bane's so-called "liberation."
Allen stretched his arms behind his head with a lazy yawn and glanced at Harleen with a grin.
'So, this is The Dark Knight Rises timeline, huh? Gotham's basically a playground for lunatics now. Honestly? Sounds kind of fun.'
"You're taking this pretty well," Harleen observed, giving him a sideways glance.
"Why wouldn't I?" Allen replied, his grin widening.
"Anyway, I'm starving."
"I'll cook something," she offered, getting up and walking toward the kitchen.
The apartment door—still broken from Allen's earlier explosive entrance—hung crookedly off its hinges. Whether it was the grim state of the building or the fresh corpse just outside, no one had dared to intrude.
Allen shoved the nearby couch against the entryway as a makeshift barricade, then strolled over to the window and looked out at the havoc spreading.
The city wasn't going to bounce back anytime soon.
He closed the curtains slowly, cutting off the chaotic view, and turned to make his way toward the kitchen.
Gotham was proving to be quite the adventure.
First, he'd crossed paths with Catwoman.
And now, with a bright-eyed girl who could pull the trigger without flinching.
The more he experienced, the more this place seemed like his kind of playground.
He hoped that thrill wouldn't wear off too fast.
He had always been the type to grow restless quickly—constantly chasing the next exciting thing.
But Gotham? Gotham had real potential.
It would be a shame if he burned through it too soon.
As he entered the kitchen, Allen moved in front of Harleen.
"I really envy you," Allen murmured, but his words reached her ear.
"Owning your own airport at such a young age."
Harleen blinked, caught off guard. "...Airport?"
She followed his gaze downward, then froze.
A beat passed before realization slammed into her like a truck. Her face flushed a deep, burning red.
Small… The word echoed in her mind like a cruel echo chamber.
"Do you like bigger ones?" she asked quietly, her voice a mix of curiosity and quiet embarrassment.
"Size isn't everything," Allen replied smoothly, completely unfazed.
"Shape matters, too. Discs, cones, teardrops… I don't discriminate. You've also got the classics—papaya, peach, and more. Gotta keep things interesting."
Harleen hesitated, unsure if she really wanted to know, but the question slipped out anyway. "Do you have a favorite?"
Allen gave it a second of thought, then flashed a grin.
"If I had to pick… I'd say my favorite is... all of them"
Harleen went quiet, chewing on his words. All of them…
Was he the kind of person who always chased the new and discarded the old?
Was that just his nature? Always searching for different ones and leaving the last one?
"Don't overanalyze it," Allen said, catching on instantly.
"Now, hurry up."
Harleen's heart skipped at the ease with which he cut through her train of thought.
Flustered, she blurted, "Hurry up with what?"
"Cooking, obviously." Allen chuckled.
Rolling her eyes, Harleen focused on the stove again.
Growing up in a chaotic household had forced her to grow independent early on.
Cooking wasn't just a hobby—it was survival for her.
And she was good at it.
As they sat down to eat together, an unexpected warmth filled the room.
The tension from earlier had completely dissipated, replaced by something oddly comforting.
It was almost hard to believe that not too long ago, they had been pointing guns at each other.