Chapter 3: Breaking the Ice
The silence after the door slammed shut wasn't quiet. It was thick. Charged. Filled only by Harmony’s ragged, wet breathing and the faint, persistent buzz of the fluorescent light overhead. It flickered erratically, casting jumpy shadows that danced across the padded walls like frantic insects. The smell of bleach and something vaguely metallic – fear-sweat, maybe, or old blood – clung to the air.
Harmony remained pressed into the corner, knees drawn tight to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins. Her hazel eyes, still wide and bloodshot, tracked Harley’s every twitch. The terror hadn't vanished; it had solidified into a heavy, cold dread in her stomach. My kind of fun. The words echoed in her skull, worse than any scream.
Harley, meanwhile, seemed to have momentarily lost interest. She paced a tight circle near the center of the small cell, humming that same discordant tune from before, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against her thigh. Her bare feet padded softly on the linoleum. She stopped abruptly, facing the padded wall opposite Harmony. Stared at it. Then, without warning, she slammed her forehead against the soft gray foam. Thump.
Harmony flinched, a small gasp escaping her.
Harley pulled back, rubbing her brow. "Harder than it looks. Good shock absorption. Five stars." She grinned back at Harmony, a flash of white teeth in the flickering light. "Wouldn't recommend it for amateur hour, though. Takes finesse."
Harmony just stared, uncomprehending. Was this… normal?
Harley sighed dramatically, the sound long and theatrical. "Ugh. Tough crowd. You're giving me the 'deer in headlights' routine, sweetcheeks. And frankly," she spun on her heel, facing Harmony fully, hands on her hips, "it's cramping my style. How'm I supposed to corrupt the new blood if you're too busy vibrating in the corner?" She took a step closer. Harmony tensed, ready to curl tighter. But Harley didn't touch her. Instead, she reached down and grabbed the hem of her own loose Arkham-issue tunic.
"Alright, Harmony Hayes," Harley declared, her voice dropping into a mock-serious tone, like a magician about to perform a dangerous trick. "Prepare to be… moderately entertained!" With surprising speed, she yanked the tunic up and over her head, tossing it onto the thin mattress. Underneath, she wore only the standard-issue bra and a canvas straitjacket. The heavy buckles gleamed dully under the fluorescents. Her pale shoulders and arms were tightly bound against her torso by the thick straps.
Harmony blinked. The suddenness, the sheer absurdity of it, momentarily punctured her panic. Why is she wearing that?
Harley winked. "Perks of bein' a frequent flyer. They don't trust me with shoelaces, let alone opposable thumbs after lights out." She flexed her bound arms experimentally, the canvas straining. "Bit snug tonight. Musta been those extra pudding cups." She started shuffling her shoulders, wriggling like a caterpillar stuck in reverse. Muscles in her neck corded. Her face scrunched up with effort, a low grunt escaping her lips. She twisted, a sharp, unnatural contortion of her upper body.
Harmony watched, morbidly fascinated despite herself. The controlled strain, the sheer physical improbability… it was grotesque, yet undeniably impressive. Harley’s breath hitched. Her spine seemed to ripple under the thin fabric of the bra. With a final, serpentine twist and a grunt that sounded suspiciously like victory, Harley managed to bring one buckled strap partially over her shoulder. Her arm, still trapped within the jacket’s sleeve, was now bent at an impossible angle behind her head.
She froze in the contorted position, chest heaving slightly, a triumphant, slightly manic grin splitting her face. "See?" she panted, her voice strained but triumphant. She wriggled her fingers, still encased in the canvas sleeve flopping near her ear. "Even this," she jerked her chin towards the restraining jacket, "can't keep this clown down! Ta-da!" She held the awkward pose, beaming at Harmony, sweat beading on her forehead.
A sound escaped Harmony. Not a sob. Not a gasp. It was a tiny, hiccuping puff of air. Almost… a laugh? It shocked her. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening further, this time in surprise at herself.
Harley saw it. The flicker of something other than terror in those hazel eyes. The tiny, involuntary twitch at the corner of Harmony's lips. Harley’s grin widened, becoming less predatory, more genuinely delighted. "Ha! There it is! Knew you had a smile in there somewhere, sugarplum! Buried deep, real deep, under all that 'please don't kill me' vibe, but hey!" She relaxed her contortion with another grunt, letting the strap slip back down her shoulder, her arm returning to its bound position across her chest. She stood there, breathing heavily, the straitjacket looking even more ridiculous now. "Bet you ten bucks I can get my arm out past the elbow before Nurse Ratched brings the meds."
The observation slit scraped open. The same bored, watchful eye peered in. It lingered on Harley, standing half-naked and bound in the middle of the cell, then flicked to Harmony, still huddled but no longer actively sobbing. The eye narrowed slightly.
Harley didn’t miss it. She turned towards the slit, still grinning, and gave a jaunty little wave with her bound hands. "Evenin', Ricky! Just showin' the new kid the ropes! Literally!" She wiggled her shoulders again. "Safety demonstration! Very important!"
The eye disappeared. The slit slammed shut with a decisive clack.
Harley turned back to Harmony, the manic energy simmering down to a low, dangerous amusement. She picked up her discarded tunic and slipped it back on over the straitjacket, movements economical despite the restraints. The flickering light caught the faint sheen of sweat on her upper lip. That fractured, almost genuine moment dissolved back into Arkham's grim reality.
"See?" Harley said, her voice dropping lower, huskier, as she settled back onto her haunches near Harmony, still maintaining a deliberate distance. Her eyes, bright and unsettling, locked onto Harmony’s. The playful clown was gone, replaced by something sharper, more calculating. "Toldja we'd have fun. And that? That was just the warm-up act." She leaned forward, just an inch, the air crackling with renewed tension. "Just you wait, Harmony Hayes. The real show's about to start."