The Unicorn rumbled through Gotham's fog-drenched streets, its tires gripping slick pavement as Barbara steered them away from the dealership. The city's skyline glowed faint behind the haze, neon signs flickering like restless eyes. They drove in silence for a stretch, the hum of the engine and the faint buzz of Harley humming to herself filling the cabin.
Minutes later, Barbara guided the car off a narrow bridge and into a forgotten access road. The road sloped downward into a sewer tunnel, the walls slick with damp and painted with graffiti that glistened under the sedan's headlights. Tires splashed through shallow water until they ground to a stop before a concrete wall mottled with mold.
Barbara tapped a control on her dash. A soft blue glow rippled across the wall, nanites shifting like liquid metal, peeling the surface back with a hiss. The wall folded outward, reshaping itself into an angled opening that revealed a descending ramp. Barbara drove forward, the sedan's frame scraping faintly against the tunnel walls until the ramp opened wide, spiraling into shadow. The nanite wall sealed shut behind them with a whisper of finality.
Harley let out a long, impressed whistle. "Babe, that's some work for two gals who aren't even cashing in villain funds yet."
Barbara let the faintest smile touch her lips. "I know. Once Pamela and I set up the business front, I'm buying the property above this lair. We'll raise a skyscraper. A gleaming tower to distract the public—while Midnight Mayhem rules beneath."
Pamela's laugh rose first, deep and sharp, Barbara joining her in echo. Harley threw her head back and howled along, too loud, too wild, a jarring pitch that bounced against the concrete walls. Pamela and Barbara cut their laughter at the same time, turning their eyes on her.
Harley blinked, cheeks faintly pink. "Too clownish?"
Barbara gave a dry nod. "Yeah. You need to lower the volume a notch."
Harley fished a battered notebook from her jacket pocket, its cover covered in doodles of bats, flowers, and circus balloons. Across the front, the words were scrawled in crooked marker: Things to Work on for Midnight Mayhem. She flipped it open, scribbling quickly. "Tone down the evil laugh," she muttered as she shut it again. "Got it. I'll practice later."
Pamela's expression softened, her lips curling faintly. "I like her, Barbara. She's willing to learn."
Barbara gave a slight nod. "Come on. Let's show her."
They climbed out of the sedan, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous chamber. The lair stretched before them—dark concrete walls threaded with exposed pipes, puddles collecting on the floor, the air thick with damp and the faint metallic tang of rust. It was raw, rough, but full of potential.
Pamela gestured toward the far left corner where trickles of water streaked down the wall. "That's where I'll build my botany lab. Carnivorous vines, blossoms that snap shut in seconds—living defenses so we save on payroll. Semi-intelligent, and hungry enough to devour an intruder before they scream."
Harley gave a delighted little clap. "That's gonna be gorgeous."
Barbara pointed to the opposite side where conduit lines clustered like veins. "That corner will be my tech lab. Servers, engineering benches, nanite printers. Once the front company's launched, I'll push high-end electronics into the market—phones, drones, security systems. Huge margins."
Pamela nodded. "And when the brand takes off, we'll undercut it with a bargain clothing line. Purses, shoes, whatever Gotham influencers are drooling over. Triple markup."
Harley's eyes went wide. "You two are gonna make more from the legit side than the crime side!"
"That's the idea," Pamela said smoothly. "We need clean cash to wash the dirty."
Barbara's tone was calm but firm. "And most of the execution falls on me. Pamela dreams big, I handle the business, the purchases, the hires."
Pamela placed a hand lightly on her arm. "You'll be the public face, Barbara. Daughter of the commissioner. People trust you by extension. No one will suspect anything."
Harley laughed. "She's right. Your dad gave you a blank check in trust. He'll never see this coming."
Barbara's jaw tightened. "About time he repaid me—after all the times I got kidnapped on his watch."
Pamela's eyes flicked toward the vehicles, then froze. She pointed. "Harley… why is there a clown car parked next to ours?"
Harley blinked innocently. "What clown car?"
Barbara turned her head, narrowing her eyes. "There really is a clown car beside our sedan. The one we still haven't named."
Harley sighed, shoulders slumping. "Fine. I might be able to… generate clown stuff. It just happens sometimes. I thought we might need a backup ride, so I spawned a clown car."
Pamela stared at her. "That's your… superpower?"
Harley shrugged. "That and hitting people with bats. But yeah—sometimes clown stuff just shows up."
Barbara pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just don't overdo it."
Harley grinned sheepishly. "Ehhh, no promises."
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