Mark paced back and forth in one of the labs on the Watchtower, his boots tapping against the metal floor, his hands clenching and unclenching as he moved past rows of blinking machines and glowing screens. J'onn stood near a console, typing commands, while a shorter guy Mark hadn't met before, introduced as the Atom, adjusted a scanner hooked up to a sample of Kara's blood. When Mark had burst onto the Watchtower hours earlier, demanding to see Superman and asking for the best biologists they had because it was urgent, Superman hadn't hesitated, he'd said J'onn was a top biologist on Mars, respected for his work, and promised to call in another expert with experience in genetics. Mark had explained what Anissa told him, about the baby's DNA tearing itself apart, and Superman had flown straight to Earth to round up more specialists, leaving Mark here with J'onn and the Atom, waiting as they analyzed the unborn child's DNA pulled from Kara's latest scan.
Mark stopped pacing for a second, running his hands through his hair, then started again, his eyes flicking to the screens showing spiraling strands of code, he turned to J'onn and asked, "When will it be done?"
J'onn looked up from the console, stepping toward Mark, and put a hand on his shoulder. "We're working as fast as we can, try to stay calm, Mark."
Mark shrugged off the hand, stepping back, his voice rising as he said, "Calm? My child might die, how am I supposed to stay calm when you're telling me it's taking time?" He stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose, then exhaled hard and said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you guys."
The Atom tapped a screen, pulling up a 3D model of the baby's DNA, and waved J'onn over, they both stared at it, their faces tightening as lines of data scrolled past. Mark stepped closer, watching them, and asked, "What's going on, what does it mean?"
The Atom turned, scratching his head, and said, "The baby's DNA is in a constant state of flux, it's trying to form, trying to solidify, but it can't hold together."
Mark leaned forward, gripping the edge of a table, and asked, "What does that mean?"
The Atom sighed, crossing his arms, and said, "Anissa was right, what she described, the DNA ripping itself apart, that's the least that could happen, it's unstable, fighting itself every second."
Mark's chest tightened, his hands squeezing the table harder, he took a deep breath, forcing it out slow, calming himself down, then looked at them and asked, "What can we do?"
J'onn stepped away from the screen, folding his hands behind his back, and said, "The issue is we don't have data on Viltrumite newborns, if we did, we could see what the DNA should look like, resequence it, give it the nudge it needs to form into a full Viltrumite."
Mark straightened up, running a hand over his face, and asked, "Why not analyze Waylon's DNA or get one of three other Viltrumites or even mine!?"
J'onn shook his head, turning back to the console, and said, "Your son's DNA is too unique, exceptional doesn't even cover it, like yours it's a perfect hybrid of Viltrumite and something else, so different from pure Viltrumite or human DNA in how it's structured."
The Atom cut in, pointing at the screen, and said, "it can't be fully grown either from what I've heard Viltrumites live for thousands of years, during that time their DNA will be very different from how it was when it began. We need a baby with Viltrumite heritage that isn't a hybrid, without that, I don't know another way."
J'onn raised a hand, stepping closer, and said, "Yet... scientists from STAR Labs are coming soon, and they'll find an alternative, don't worry, Mark."
Mark went quiet, staring at the floor, his hands dropping to his sides, he looked up at them and said, "Don't tell Raven or Kara, the pregnancy's already rough on her, and this'll make it worse." They nodded, J'onn tapping the console to save the data, the Atom shutting off the screen, Mark turned, walking out of the lab, the door sliding shut behind him.
He moved through the Watchtower's halls, his boots echoing, replaying their words in his head, they needed a baby Viltrumite, something pure, not mixed like Waylon's DNA. His mind jumped back to the underground auction, he'd slept with three women there, Cassandra, Killer Frost, and Harley. He stopped, leaning against a wall, rubbing his temples as he thought it through, maybe one of them had gotten pregnant, maybe one had a kid by now, it was a long shot, but he had to try, had to track them down, see if any of them had given birth to a Viltrumite child he didn't know about.
He pushed off the wall, starting to walk again, thinking about Harley, she'd be the toughest to face, probably ready to kill him the second she saw him after everything that went down. He shook his head, muttering, "Shit," under his breath.
___________________________
Gotham at night, one of the most awful crime ridden places on the planet only beaten by third world countries and active war zones. Muggings happened every few blocks, gunshots echoed off crumbling buildings, and police lights flashed nonstop, chasing after the latest robbery or gang fight. But beyond the grit, the richer districts glowed with a different energy—neon signs, pulsing music, and crowds spilling out of nightclubs, laughing and stumbling in their expensive outfits. Places like The Velvet Room drew the elite with its sleek black walls, red velvet curtains, and thumping bass that shook the floor, while Club Obsidian offered mirrored ceilings, strobe lights, and private booths where the wealthy snorted lines off glass tables. Over at Luxe Nocturne half-naked dancers swung on poles under purple lights, and the air smelled of sweat, booze, and perfume, catering to those who could pay for VIP bottle service and a quick feel in the dark corners.
Harley, Sam, and Cass stood outside Club Obsidian, Lucy perched on Harley's shoulders, her tiny hands tugging at her mom's blonde pigtails. "What do ya mean ya don't allow kids!" Harley yelled, hands on her hips as she glared at the bouncer.
The security guard, a beefy guy with a buzz cut, looked ready to piss himself but also confused, his eyes darting between Harley and the baby. Even without her clown makeup, anyone in Gotham could spot Harley Quinn a mile away. "Ma'am, it's a nightclub—we only allow adults inside," he said, wiping sweat off his forehead.
"MA'AM?" Harley gasped, spinning around to Sam and Cass. "Did ya hear what he called me!"
"Harley," Sam said, smacking her hand against her forehead, "of course Lucy isn't allowed in the club—she's a baby."
"Why are we even here anyway?" Sam asked, crossing her arms. "I thought we were looking for Mark."
"I mean, do I look like a ma'am!" Harley said, ignoring Sam, hands waving in the air. "I ain't even 30 yet!"
"Gah goo ahhh bsshhh," Lucy babbled, her little voice high-pitched and garbled, drool dripping from her mouth as she kicked her legs.
"Thank ya, pumpkin," Harley said, lifting Lucy off her shoulders and holding her up in front of her face. "Ya understand ya Ma perfectly, don't ya?" She started playing with her, blowing raspberries on her belly, making Lucy squeal and laugh, her chubby arms flailing.
Sam glanced behind her at the long line of people waiting to get in, cringing as eyes bored into them, some annoyed, others curious. She looked at Cass, who shrugged, her face blank. A guy in a leather jacket near the front shouted, "Hey, psycho, get the fuck out of line!" Another woman in a sparkly dress yelled, "Move it, clown!"
Harley scowled, spinning around. "Give me a minute!" she barked back, her voice cutting through the chatter.
Lucy shouted too, "Bah goo rah!" her tiny fist raised like she was ready to fight, copying her mom.
Harley handed Lucy to Cass, who took the baby without a word. Lucy grabbed Cass's dark hair, stuffing it into her mouth and chewing, but Cass didn't react, just held her steady. Harley turned back to the bouncer, flashing a wide grin. "Mama knows how this game's played," she said, pulling out her purse and slipping him some cash. The bouncer looked down—seven crumpled dollar bills—then froze when he saw the glint of a gun nestled inside her bag, Harley's wild eyes staring him down. He stepped aside, waving them in without a word.
They walked through the door, the bouncer muttering, "I don't get paid enough for this," as he rubbed his face.
Inside the corridor leading to the main club, Sam stopped, hands on her hips. "What are we going to do about the sound? Lucy hates loud noises."
Harley waved her off, grinning. "Don't worry—ya think I ain't prepared? With my genius IQ, I got this." She reached into her top, digging between her breasts, and pulled out a pair of tiny earplugs, popping them into Lucy's ears. Lucy giggled, clapping her hands as Harley took her back from Cass.
Sam rolled her eyes, crossing her arms again. "Why are we here, Harley? Mark isn't going to be here—why the hell would he?"
Harley cackled, tossing her head back. "Ya think I'm stupid? I know Mark ain't here. This is the hangout spot for one of my old info brokers—used to meet him back when I ran with Mr. J." She started walking down the corridor, Sam and Cass following. "He's a big broker on the hero scene—should have somethin' on Mark or Invisible or whatever dumb name he's usin' now."
Cass signed with quick flicks of her hands, *Why'd you bring me? I'm missing Love Under the Lasso*
"You're the muscle in case anyone gets fresh with us," Harley said, grinning over her shoulder. "Me and Sammy got bodies beggin' to be touched—ya gotta make sure they just window shop."
Cass stared at her, face blank.
Sam put a hand on Cass's shoulder. "I think you're very pretty," she said, smiling.
"Ga ba doo," Lucy babbled, waving her arms, drool hanging from her chin.
Cass looked down at the baby, unsure if she liked being comforted by a kid, then shrugged it off.
They stepped into the club proper, the doors swinging open to a wall of sound and heat. Inside, the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and smoke, bass pounding through the floor, vibrating up their legs. Half-naked women danced on platforms, their breasts bouncing as they gyrated, some grinding against each other, hands roaming over bare skin. Men in tight shirts and women in short dresses pressed together on the dance floor, hips thrusting, tongues in mouths, some slipping hands under clothes. In the VIP booths, a guy snorted white powder off a woman's cleavage while another couple fucked against the wall, her skirt hiked up, his pants around his ankles, moans drowned out by the music. Strobe lights flashed, catching wet skin, open mouths, and groping hands, the whole place a mess of sex.
Cass slapped a hand over Lucy's eyes, holding her close as Harley led the way through the crowd, grinning like she owned the place.
Sam walked near Harley and Cass inside Club Obsidian, the crowd pressing in around her, bodies moving, shouting, laughing, the noise and heat making her chest tighten. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as flashes hit her—screams echoing, blood splattering across a concrete floor, bodies dropping in the underground auction. She swallowed hard, pushing it down, and turned to Harley. "I'm going to get a drink," she said, her voice flat.
Harley waved her off, grinning wide. "Don't have too much fun without us, Sammy!"
Sam rolled her eyes, turning away and slipping into the crowd, weaving through the mass of people dancing and groping each other. A guy in a tight shirt grabbed at her ass as she passed, his hand brushing her shorts—she shoved him off with her elbow. Another woman, drunk and giggling, reached for her chest, fingers grazing her vest—Sam sidestepped, muttering under her breath. A third person, some sweaty dude with a gold chain, tried to pull her into a dance, his hands on her hips—she pushed him back, harder this time. Two more tried their luck, one sliding a hand up her thigh, another brushing her arm—she shook them off, her jaw clenching tighter with each step until she finally broke through to the bar.
She leaned against the counter, catching her breath, and the bartender—a lean guy with slicked-back hair and a cocky grin—leaned over. "Hey, gorgeous, what's a girl like you want tonight?" he asked, winking at her.
Sam stared at him, her face blank, and said, "Highest alcohol content in a cup."
He laughed, wiping a glass with a rag. "I don't think ya can afford our highest, but if ya come out to the alley on my break and show me a little love, maybe I'll throw ya a cup." He winked again, his meaning clear—he wanted her to suck him off.
Sam reached into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled dollar bill, and held it out, letting it flash a dull pink for a split second, so faint no one would notice unless they were looking for it. She handed it over, now a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and smirked. "Is this enough?"
The bartender frowned, picking it up and holding it to the light, checking the watermark and the strip. His eyes widened when he saw it was real, and he stammered, "I apologize, ma'am," before turning to grab a bottle from the top shelf, pouring her a generous shot of something clear and strong, sliding it across the counter.
Sam took the drink, moving to an empty spot at the far end of the bar, away from the crowd, and sat down, sipping it alone. She stared at the glass, her mind spinning—this whole night was crazy, dragging around a nightclub with Harley and a baby, looking for Mark of all people, and she didn't even know why she was here. But then she thought, where else would she go? She didn't have anyone—her family was dead, her childhood home gone, burned to ash years ago. She couldn't remember their faces, their voices, just vague shapes in her head. All she could recall clearly was the lab—strapped to a table, screaming as needles pierced her skin, machines humming, voices barking orders, her body tearing itself apart and rebuilding over and over until she broke free.
She snapped back to the club, the music pounding in her ears, and downed her drink in one gulp, the burn hitting her throat hard. She breathed heavily, reaching over to a self-service ice tray on the bar, scooping half a dozen cubes into her empty glass with her hand. She spun her finger in the air above it, using her power to turn the ice into the same expensive liquor she'd just had, the clear liquid forming fast—she drank it down again, the cold mixing with the heat in her chest, settling her nerves a bit.
She set the glass down, telling herself to stop thinking about back then—it was over, she was free, not a slave anymore. That thought pulled her to Mark, and her feelings twisted up tight. She couldn't remember much of their fight at the underground auction, just fragments—chaos, pain, his fist driving through her chest, impaling her. But that had shattered her old body, let her reform, freed her from the chains they'd locked her in. It was also the worst moment of her life, the trauma sticking to her like tar. She didn't know if she could stand near him without shaking, her hands trembling even now at the thought. Even now months later crowds choked her, talking tied her tongue, and using her powers—every time, it dragged her back to that night she died.
Her powers were simple—she pictured what she wanted, knew what she was manipulating, and it happened. Sometimes, if she didn't know enough, her power filled in the gaps, but that drained her fast, left her wiped out. She struggled with it because every use pulled up that memory—the lab, the auction, the death. She was getting better, though—small stuff like the dollar bill, the ice, she could handle that now without breaking.
"What does such a sexy woman have to frown so much over?" a voice said, cutting through her thoughts.
Sam sighed, ready to tell whoever it was to fuck off, but stopped when she turned. A woman slipped into the seat beside her—short blonde hair hanging above her shoulders, eyes sharp and piercing, lips full and parted slightly. Her body was flawless, breasts straining against a tight black top, nipples poking through, hips wide in low-cut pants showing off her flat stomach and the hint of her pussy through the fabric, legs long and crossed, every inch screaming sex. She leaned in close, her perfume hitting Sam's nose, her presence overwhelming.
Sam froze, her glass halfway to her mouth, her mind blank as she stared at the woman who'd just slid into the seat beside her. Then, like a switch flipping, she snapped out of it, setting her glass down with a clink and stuttering, "I—I'm not one for crowds. Don't like clubs."
The woman laughed, a sound that cut through the chaos, leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs. "I could tell. Your outfit isn't what I'd expect to see in a place like this—vest and sweatpants, not exactly screaming nightclub."
She moved closer, her knee brushing Sam's, her voice dropping lower. "However, despite that, you're one of the finest humans in this place."
"Humans?" Sam stuttered, her hands gripping the edge of the bar, her brain tripping over the word.
The woman ignored her, leaning in even more, her eyes roaming over Sam like she was cataloging every detail. "Your hair color—ginger, natural, I can see it matches the hair peeking out down there," she said, nodding toward Sam's shorts. "Your face—perfectly symmetrical, no flaws. Your breasts—large, filling out that vest just right." She paused, her gaze lingering on Sam's chest. "Your nipples—big areolas, the kind I'd love to suck on. Your body—tight ass, curves in all the right places. I'd bet you even still have your hymen."
Sam shifted in her seat, her legs pressing together as the woman edged closer, her body heat radiating against Sam's side. The woman inhaled deeply, her nose hovering near Sam's neck. "Unlike these people," she said, waving a hand at the crowd—sweaty bodies grinding, some reeking of cheap cologne, others of booze and stale cigarettes—"who stink of rot, artificial smells, decay, you smell good. You smell so good." She leaned in further, her nose brushing Sam's skin, taking another long breath.
Sam stammered, her hands sliding off the bar to her lap. "Th-thank you, but I think I need to go," she said, pushing her chair back an inch.
The woman moved fast, stepping in front of Sam, blocking her path, her body now inches away. "Oh, come on," she said, her voice a purr as she reached out, her fingers brushing Sam's arm. "Don't run off yet—I can make this night worth your while." She stepped closer, her breasts pressing against Sam's chest, her hand sliding up to Sam's shoulder, trying harder to pull her in.
Before she could say more, a massive commotion erupted across the club, shouts and crashes cutting through the music. Harley's voice rang out, loud and unmistakable. "Back off, ya filthy creep!" she yelled, followed by the sound of glass shattering and a man howling in pain. Sam turned her head, spotting Harley in the middle of the dance floor, swinging a broken bottle at some guy clutching his face, blood dripping between his fingers.
Sam seized the chance, slipping out from under the woman's grip. "Sorry, I gotta go," she said, ducking away and pushing into the crowd, leaving the woman standing there, her hands dropping to her sides.
Sam pushed through the thinning crowd, stepping onto the dance floor where broken glass crunched under her boots and people scattered, some tripping over spilled drinks, others shoving to get away from the mess Harley had started. She shouted at Harley, "What the hell did you do?"
Harley spun around, grinning ear to ear. "Why ya blamin' me for! All I asked was how far along were they," she said, pointing at a huge guy in a suit stretched tight over his fat belly, the seams splitting as he heaved, his face turning red with anger.
The info broker wiped sweat off his forehead, yelling back, "I'm done takin' your shit, Harley! Ya don't have no Joker to protect ya anymore!"
Harley screamed, her voice shrill, "I don't need Mr. J! I'm a strong independent woman!" She held Lucy in her arms, bouncing her up and down.
Lucy shouted too, "Bah goo dah!" her little hands waving.
Sam stepped closer, kicking aside a broken bottle, and said, "We should get out of here quick."
The info broker laughed, his gut shaking, and shook his head. "Not a chance—you're all done." He snapped his fingers, shouting for his men, and a bunch of big guys in suits pushed through the crowd, cracking their knuckles, heading straight for them.
Harley grinned, turning to Cass. "Sick 'em, Cass!"
Cass stood at the buffet table, shoving a handful of strawberries into her mouth, then clicked her neck and popped her shoulders, dropping the rest of her food onto the table. She grabbed a plate, spun it in her hand, and threw it hard, hitting one of the goons in the forehead—he grunted, stumbling back as blood trickled down his face. She rushed them, closing the gap fast, her fists snapping up to block a punch from one guy while her leg shot out, kicking another in the stomach, sending him crashing into a chair—she spun, her elbow smashing into a third guy's nose, then dropped low, sweeping her leg to trip a fourth, stomping his chest as he fell.
Harley cackled, jumping into the fight with Lucy still in her arms, swinging a fist at one goon while ducking another's grab, her boots slamming the floor as she moved. Sam shouted, "No, no, no!" watching Harley leap in with the baby, her stomach dropping.
Lucy laughed, clapping her hands, bouncing in Harley's grip as her mom sidestepped a punch, spun around, and kicked a guy in the shin—he hopped, cursing. Sam darted forward, trying to grab Lucy, weaving through swinging arms and toppling bodies, her hands reaching out.
Harley shouted, "Upsy daisy!" tossing Lucy into the air—the baby squealed, arms flailing with delight—then flipped backward, her heel cracking into a goon's jaw, landing steady and catching Lucy as she dropped back down. She handed her to Sam, kissing her forehead. "Stay with Auntie Sammy for now, pumpkin," she said, then jumped back up, diving at a guy swinging a chair.
Sam held Lucy tight, turning as more men poured into the club, shoving past the crowd, heading their way. Her hands glowed pink, but her breath caught—memories of the auction flashed: blood, screams, her dying—she froze, her chest tightening, and a goon's fist slammed into her jaw, knocking her sideways. She stumbled, dropping Lucy, panic surging as the baby hit the floor—her hands shot out, the ground rippling under Lucy, turning into a soft pillow just in time—Lucy landed safe, giggling, rolling onto her side.
Sam clutched her face, breathing hard, her vision blurring as she saw Lucy unprotected—a goon kicked her in the ribs, sending her sprawling, pain shooting through her side. She gasped, crawling toward Lucy, her hands trembling—another guy swung at her, but her fear for Lucy drowned out the trauma, and she thrust her hand out, shooting a pink energy blast, hitting the goon in the chest, sending him crashing into a table.
More goons closed in, and Sam scooped Lucy into her arms, clutching her close, her heart pounding as she backed away from the fight. A guy lunged, swinging a fist—she ducked, but her hesitation returned, her hands shaking, and his elbow clipped her shoulder, making her stagger. Lucy slipped from her grip again, landing on the pillow patch—Sam dropped to her knees, shielding her, and shot another blast, knocking the guy into a booth.
Sam clutched Lucy tight, backing away from the advancing goons, her breath coming in short gasps as one swung a fist at her head—she ducked, but another grabbed her arm, twisting it hard, making her cry out. Her knees hit the ground, her hands glowing pink, ready to fight back, when a blur of motion cut through the crowd—Galatea stepped in, her short blonde hair whipping as she grabbed the goon by the neck, lifting him off the ground with one hand, then slammed him down, cracking the floor tiles. Another guy charged, swinging a broken bottle—she sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, twisted it until it snapped, then kicked him in the chest, sending him flying into a wall, plaster crumbling around him. A third lunged at Sam, but Galatea caught him mid-step, hurling him over the bar counter—he crashed through bottles and glass, landing in a heap.
Galatea turned, offering her hand to Sam, pulling her up just as Harley and Cass finished their own fights—Harley knocked out her last goon with a knee to the face, and Cass stomped another's stomach, leaving him wheezing. Harley scooped up Lucy from the foam, shouting, "Time to go!" and bolted toward the exit, Lucy giggling in her arms. Cass ran past, grabbing a soda can off a table, spinning it in her hand, and hurling it hard—it smacked the info broker square in the forehead, making him stumble back, cursing as blood trickled down his face.
They burst outside, panting heavily, the cool night air hitting their sweaty skin as they stopped on the sidewalk, the club's music fading behind them. Harley bent over, catching her breath, then straightened up, pointing at Galatea. "Who the fuck is this broad?"
Sam wiped her forehead, holding her bruised arm. "She saved me and Lucy in there."
Harley's face lit up, a big grin spreading as she said, "Well, thanks a bunch!" and held up her hand for a high five. Galatea stared at it, not moving, leaving Harley's hand hanging—Harley turned to Sam, pointing her hand at her, but Sam shook her head, crossing her arms. She swung it toward Cass, who paused, looking at it for a second, then slapped her hand against Harley's, giving a quick nod.
Harley pumped her fist. "Hell yeah, girls' night!"
Sam turned to her, hands on her hips. "What the hell happened in there? You put Lucy in danger—tossing her around like that, fighting with her in your arms!"
Harley waved her off, rolling her eyes. "Lucy was fine—weren't ya, pumpkin?" she said, cooing at the baby, tickling her chin—Lucy giggled, clapping her hands.
Sam slapped her hand against her forehead, knowing it was pointless to argue with Harley, and dropped it, sighing. "Did you even get any information about Mark?"
Galatea's head tilted slightly, her ears perking up as she listened, stepping closer.
Harley shrugged, bouncing Lucy in her arms. "Not much useful—just the routes and districts he usually patrols as. But don't worry, we'll keep lookin'."
They turned to walk away, heading down the street, when Sam glanced back—Galatea followed a few steps behind, her boots clicking on the pavement. Harley stopped, spinning around. "Look, I appreciate the help, but ya can skidaddle now."
Galatea smirked, crossing her arms. "If you're looking for who I think you are, I'm very much interested in following you—see, I'm looking forward to seeing Mark too."
Harley looked at her, softening for a moment, then put a hand on her shoulder. "Ya got it bad too, huh? Don't worry, we'll make sure to get ya some reparations from ol' deadbeat too."
Galatea frowned, tilting her head, confused, but Sam stepped in, waving her hand. "Ignore her—can we go home now?"
Harley nodded, grinning. "Yeah, let's go!"
Galatea stepped forward, her voice calm. "My penthouse is close by—you can stay there."
Harley clapped her hands, spinning around. "Lead the way!" she said, then started wooing loudly, skipping down the street, Lucy bouncing in her arms, giggling as they went.
(AN: So Mark is on the hunt for Harley and the other girls he slipped it to. And those girls are also looking for him. But what about killer frost you may ask? Does she have a little baby hidden somewhere. It's possible but who knows man. Anyway Galatea is with the girls now cause why not. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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