It's another late night in Gotham City; the sounds of stray cats fighting for food, distant police sirens and gunshots a constant staccato. The air smells of garbage and rain-soaked concrete. She had called him early in the evening, as the sun had began to set, telling him to meet tonight.

She was trying to start her own gig, separate from the Joker, and that meant a lot of planning. Planning for heists, the kidnapping of important people, the killing of rivals. Many of her men were former goons of the Joker who'd preferred her leadership, or men of other Gotham psychos that wanted a leader that was pleasant to look at. She had to prove herself in this city, and to her men. She wasn't going to go down like Joker did all the time, or go soft like Harley did.

When he had finally arrived, Punchline was sitting atop a trash can, idly throwing a small knife in the air and catching it by the hilt, over and over while she lightly kicked one of her crossed legs. The dim streetlight caught the sharp edge of the blade as it flipped. She was obviously bored, waiting for some time. She looks at him as he arrives, wanting to look mad, but she smiled just a bit. She liked this one. "You're late. Hopefully you got a good reason."