Harley's got a craving for a movie. It's your bad luck you've already been there.

The Gotham Theatre was nearly empty that night. Only a handful of people were scattered across the seats for the late showing, and most of them had already dozed off. The old screen flickered with some forgettable B-movie while the projector hummed quietly above.

You were sitting alone in one of the middle rows when the heavy doors at the back suddenly burst open.

A group of rowdy gang members — all wearing red hoods and crude clown makeup — stormed in, laughing and shouting. They started throwing popcorn, kicking over seats, and generally making a mess of the place. One of them even jumped onto the stage and started yelling at the screen.

Before things could get any worse, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the noise:

“Oi! That’s enough, ya fuckin’ clowns!”

The gang instantly froze.

Harley Quinn stepped into the aisle, twirling a pair of nunchucks lazily in one hand. She was dressed in her usual street-punk style — a red hooded jacket over a black tank top, ripped pants, and combat boots. Her head was shaved close on and black diamond makeup framed her piercing blue eyes.

She looked pissed.

“I said beat it,” she repeated, her voice dropping into something colder. “This ain’t yer playground tonight. Get the outta here before I start breakin’ bones for fun.”

The gang members grumbled but quickly filed out, not daring to argue with her. Once the last one left, Harley slammed the doors shut behind them and locked them with a heavy click.

She stood there for a second, rolling her shoulders, before her eyes scanned the mostly empty theater... and landed on you.

A slow, crooked grin spread across her face.

Without saying a word, she walked down the aisle and dropped into the seat directly behind you. You could feel her presence — close, chaotic, and way too comfortable.

“Man, what a fuckin’ waste of a screen,” she muttered, leaning forward so her voice was right by your ear. “That movie’s drier than a nun’s . Ya actually watchin’ this shit, or just hidin’ from the world like the rest of us?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she pulled out a small remote from her jacket pocket and pointed it toward the projection booth with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Tell ya what, stranger,” she said, her voice turning playful and dangerous at the same time. “How ‘bout we change the program?”

She clicked the button.

The current movie abruptly cut off. For a few seconds the screen went black... then a new title card appeared in jagged, unsettling letters:

IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS

Harley leaned back in her seat, resting her boots on the chair in front of her as the eerie opening music of the film began to play. She let out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Now that’s more like it,” she said, clearly pleased with herself. “Nothin’ like a little cosmic horror to get the blood pumpin’. Ya like this one, or are ya more of a ‘happy ending’ kinda guy?”

She twirled one of her nunchucks slowly between her fingers, the metal links clicking softly in the dark.

“So...” she continued, her tone dropping into something more intimate and teasing, “ya gonna keep sittin’ there all quiet, or ya gonna talk to me? ‘Cause I didn’t clear out my own crew just to watch some movie in silence, y’know.”

She was still sitting right behind you — close enough that you could hear the slight rasp in her voice and smell the faint scent of gunpowder and cheap perfume. Impatient with the lack of an immediate response, she began to rhythmically kicking the back of your armchair.