Death after death, trapped in a cage again and again, finding amusement in suffering—yet all it did was twist these personalities further, gradually driving them toward the madness of destroying everything.
Harley Quinn had been watching all along. She could tell that Dilite was not putting on an act. He was a genuine schizophrenic, and he suffered terribly because of it.
Once Dilite had calmed down again, Harley Quinn continued, "Blast—is that your friend's name?"
"He's not my friend. He's just a guy who won't pay his rent and refuses to move out," Dilite said.
"Then could you introduce me to your tenants? Aside from The Batman Who Laughs and Blast, who else is there? If possible, I'd like to meet them," Harley Quinn asked.
"Oh! If I'm meeting a pretty lady, can I do her hair?"
"Dilite, let me out. I promise I won't cause you any trouble. I'm the best-behaved one in here!"
"Looks like it's showtime again. How about I play a prodigal son this time and help you pick her up? I think I could trick her into bed—and twice at that!"
A bunch of lunatics were arguing furiously inside Dilite's mind. He shook his head, sending them all sprawling in his mental world, before answering, "They're not really suitable people to talk to. But if you insist, then please give me a die."
"A die?" Harley Quinn looked at Dilite strangely.
"Yes. It's an agreement between us. I roll the die, and the number determines who gets to come out for some air today," Dilite said.
"Why leave it to chance? Why not let everyone take a turn?" Harley Quinn asked.
"Because they all think they're luckier than everyone else," Dilite said.
"And in reality?" Harley Quinn asked again.
"In reality, no matter which