The air inside the lair was heavy with quiet tension as Harley lowered her phone. "He's out," she said softly. Pamela's eyes narrowed. "Then it's time to get in the Unicorn, ladies. Let's go deal with the Joker." Harley hesitated, then nodded. "All right, guys. Just don't be too rough with him. He's kind of sensitive. He doesn't take bad news very well." Barbara raised a brow, her expression tired. "Harley, do you think a clown like the Joker takes any news well? He probably takes good news badly and bad news even worse." Harley sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "It's true. Mr. J definitely can't handle surprises. But with you two around, I think we'll handle it." Barbara and Pamela exchanged a glance before both said firmly, "Let's get to it, girls."
They left the base through the steel tunnel leading to the hidden garage. The gray four-door Unicorn waited under dim lights, its dull paintwork reflecting the sterile glow. Pamela climbed into the driver's seat, Barbara took shotgun, and Harley slid into the back. With a soft whir, the elevator lifted them to the surface, opening into the outskirts of the Midnight Industries district. The garage door creaked open, and the Unicorn rolled silently into Gotham's shadowed streets.
As they drove through the haze of early morning fog, Harley leaned between the seats. "You know, ladies, you really lucked out picking this car. Nobody even notices it. Surveillance cameras literally look away when they scan the area." Barbara's tone was dry as she kept her eyes on the road ahead. "That's true. I don't even have to program them to ignore us. The operators just instinctively avoid looking. It's such an ugly car they'd rather stare at concrete." Pamela laughed lightly. "It's not ugly—it's efficient camouflage. When we unleash this thing's speed, nobody's fast enough to notice. Perfect getaway car." Barbara nodded. "Even after the last few robberies, nobody's traced it to us."
Harley smiled faintly at the memory. "Oh yeah, that bank heist last week? We drove right past a couple of cops. One of them pointed and said, 'Think that's the getaway car?' And the other slapped him and said, 'Are you stupid? No criminal would drive that piece of junk!' We were gone before they even finished arguing."
Pamela kept her eyes on the dim road. "We haven't spent a dime of that money, by the way. Kira Strix still has the construction crews volunteering for us." Harley slouched back. "You're right. I'm too used to the way other villains do business—always paying for labor, henchmen, materials…" Pamela's tone turned sharp and amused. "That's the beauty of Midnight Mayhem. We intimidate our way to free enterprise. Threats and blackmail—cost-effective strategies." Barbara added with quiet satisfaction, "And they always work."
They crossed a bridge out toward Gotham's industrial edge, where the lights of the city began to fade into rusted silence. Ahead loomed the outline of a carnival—collapsed rides, faded tents, and shattered glass reflecting the moonlight. Pamela wrinkled her nose as she parked the car near the entrance. "The Joker really knows how to pick his hideouts, doesn't he?" Harley gave a weak laugh. "Just because you've got a gleaming tower and a business empire doesn't mean the Joker—oh, who am I kidding? This place is garbage."
They stepped out into the cold air. Rusted rides creaked faintly in the wind. The half-toppled Ferris wheel loomed like a skeleton. Harley motioned ahead. "Follow me, ladies." Pamela muttered, "This place needs a paint job." Barbara brushed dust off her sleeve. "And a cleaning crew."
The sound of faint laughter drifted from one of the remaining tents. Inside, dim lanterns swayed, casting warped shadows over cracked flooring. Joker stood in the center, surrounded by a handful of cheap-suited henchmen. He was in the middle of a joke. "—and then the penguin says, 'I told you to bring a fish, not a dish!'" The room erupted in forced laughter. Joker spun toward the entrance, his grin widening when he saw Harley. "Harley! It's been months, doll! How's my favorite girl?"
Harley's posture stiffened. Her face turned unreadable, her voice cold. "I've been doing good, Mr. J." Pamela, watching from behind, noticed the subtle tremor in her tone—the faint detachment that hadn't been there before. It was working.
Joker's gaze slid past Harley and landed on Barbara. His grin twisted wider. "Oh ho! You kidnapped Commissioner Gordon's daughter? Perfect! We'll use her for our next job—keep the cops distracted while we hit the vaults." Two henchmen nodded eagerly. "Yeah, boss! We'll even remember to gas up the clown car this time!" Joker smacked the nearest one on the head. "Idiot! Don't say that out loud! Harley'll build us a new one anyway—my little engineer of chaos!"
Harley leaned closer to Pamela and muttered, "Even you guys don't make me use my clown cars. But Mr. J? He insists. Says it's part of the brand." Barbara muttered back, "You have my sympathies." Harley gave her a faint, weary smile. "Thanks, girl."
Joker's attention turned back to Barbara. His grin faltered. "Wait a minute. Who's this other chick?" His eyes darted between Pamela and Barbara suspiciously. "Harley, why'd you bring her? Is she an extra hostage for the next gig?"
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