Chapter Text
The air in Neo-Gotham’s Hamilton Hill Plaza tasted of ozone, recycled oxygen, and the cloyingly sweet scent of impending chaos. Flying vehicles, sleek as polished river stones, zipped between chrome-and-glass skyscrapers that speared a perpetually bruised twilight sky. Down below, the pedestrian thoroughfare was a river of humanity, a vibrant, noisy current of fashion-forward citizens and weary corporate drones. It was, in short, a perfect canvas. And the Dee Dee twins, along with their lanky associate, were about to paint it puce.
"You know." Ghoul began, his voice a reedy, hesitant thing that seemed to be perpetually searching for its next word, "these... these pies. They have a certain... je ne sais quoi." He held up the device in his hands. It looked like a cross between a leaf blower and a bazooka, with a wide canister on top filled with a bubbling, viscous purple substance. A long, comically oversized pastry bag was affixed to the nozzle. "A real... panache."
"It's just goop, Ghoul." Deirdre Dennis said, her voice flat and bored. She leaned against a holographic newsstand, idly buffing her nails. Her twin, Delia, stood beside her, bouncing on the balls of her feet, vibrating with suppressed energy. Their faces, painted in the stark white of a mime with exaggerated red circles on their cheeks and black-lined eyes, were masks of contrasting emotions. Deirdre’s was a study in adolescent apathy; Delia’s was a canvas of pure, unadulterated glee.
"It's not just goop." Delia chirped, her voice a whole octave higher than her sister’s. "It's super-stain, insta-set, lilac-scented goop! We spent all morning on the scent profile!"
"Yeah... the lilac." Ghoul intoned, sniffing the air near the nozzle. "It's... subtle. Yet... insistent. Like a... a ghost... who sells potpourri."
Deirdre rolled her gray eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't pop out of her skull. "Can we just get this over with? My soles are getting scuffed." She pointed a white-booted toe at the pristine plasteel sidewalk.
"Patience, Dee Dee." Ghoul said, adjusting his goggles over his thin, Scarecrow-like face. "Art... it requires... a moment. The right moment."
The right moment, it turned out, was when a trio of impeccably dressed executives from Wayne-Powers exited the gleaming obsidian tower across the plaza. They walked with the unearned confidence of men who measured their worth in corporate takeovers and market share percentages.
"Showtime." Delia whispered, her grin stretching her painted face into a caricature of joy.
Ghoul hefted the "Pie-per" cannon, as he'd christened it. He took a deep breath. "Say... hello... to my... little... friend."
SPLAT!
A perfect glob of glistening purple goo sailed across the plaza and impacted squarely on the chest of the lead executive. His pristine white suit was instantly violated by a starburst of lilac-scented villainy. He stopped, looking down at his chest with an expression of pure, uncomprehending horror, as if a pterodactyl had just relieved itself on him.
Before his companions could react, two more shots rang out. SPLAT! SPLAT! Now all three were adorned with the Jokerz' latest creation.
The plaza, which had been a symphony of urban hustle, fell silent for a beat. Then, a few scattered giggles erupted, quickly swelling into a wave of laughter from the onlookers. The executives’ faces turned from shock to crimson fury.
"Who did this?!" one of them bellowed, his voice echoing off the surrounding glass.
"That's our cue!" Delia sang.
The twins sprang into action. They were poetry in motion, a whirlwind of white and red. They launched themselves from the newsstand, executing a series of flawless, synchronized handsprings and cartwheels that carried them across the plaza with impossible speed and grace. They landed in perfect unison in front of the sputtering executives, striking a pose with their hands on their hips, heads cocked to one side.
"We did!" they announced together, their voices a strange harmony of boredom and excitement.
Ghoul trotted up behind them, the Pie-per resting on his shoulder. "It's a... a statement. About... corporate culture. And... you know... stickiness."
One of the executives, recovering his composure, jabbed a finger at them. "You're those Jokerz punks! Security!"
As if on cue, two burly security guards in gray uniforms began to push their way through the now-thick crowd of gawkers, many of whom were filming the spectacle on their wrist-coms.
"Uh oh, the fun police." Delia pouted.
"Let's dance." Deirdre said, a flicker of interest finally lighting her eyes.
What followed was less a fight and more a ballet of humiliation. The guards were big and strong, but the twins were quicksilver. They moved around the guards’ clumsy lunges, a blur of motion. Delia giggled as she slid between one guard's legs, popping up behind him to give him a playful shove into his partner. Deirdre, with cold efficiency, used a guard’s own momentum to flip him onto his back, where he landed with a heavy oof.
While they danced, Ghoul provided artillery support. SPLAT! A pie hit a security camera, blinding it. SPLAT! Another splattered across the windshield of an arriving GCPD cruiser, causing it to swerve harmlessly into a row of public recycling bins.
"I think." Delia said, effortlessly dodging a clumsy swing, "this is our best one yet, Dee Dee!"
"It's not completely lame." Deirdre admitted, sidestepping and tripping the second guard as he charged her.
From the sidelines, Ghoul surveyed their work. "It's... a masterpiece. A... sticky, purple... masterpiece. The people... they love it. We're giving them... a show."
He was right. The crowd was eating it up. This wasn't the terrifying, city-threatening crime of the old days. This was street theater, a splash of vibrant, harmless anarchy in the rigidly structured world of Neo-Gotham. It was fun. It was silly.
And it was about to be over.
A shadow fell over the plaza, so swift and sudden that it seemed to swallow the light. It was a fleeting darkness, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it eclipse that drew every eye upward. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
High above, silhouetted against the bruised purple of the sky, was a figure. Angular, dark, with pointed ears and glowing eyes.
Delia stopped mid-cartwheel, her eyes wide. Deirdre froze, her hand halfway to delivering a flick to a guard’s nose. Ghoul lowered the Pie-per cannon, his jaw agape.
"Wow." Ghoul breathed. "The... the big guy. He... he actually showed up... for... pie."
Delia’s painted smile didn't falter. It widened. "Ooh! A party crasher!"