Pamela sat with her arms folded, perched on the edge of a reinforced bench near Barbara's cluttered worktable. Engine parts were scattered across the surface, metal glinting in the harsh buzz of overhead LEDs. The Unicorn sat behind them, its patched body still humming faintly with nanite energy. Water dripped steadily from a rusted pipe in the corner, the sound echoing through the cavernous garage.
She sighed dramatically, turning her head toward Barbara. "Barbara, you haven't come up with any good ideas for the name."
Barbara slouched back, throwing her hands up, smearing oil across her forearms. "I know, okay? Naming things is not my strong point. But it's not just the lair—we still need a good name for the car too."
Pamela tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "You engineered a bulletproof junker, reinforced the tires, designed nanite armor, and built a rotating license plate system. Yet naming things is where you fall short?"
Barbara let out a groan, leaning forward until her elbows hit her knees. "Naming's hard! You, on the other hand—you created the Midnight Rose. That's brilliant branding, Pamela. You're the artist here, not me."
Pamela's expression softened. She lifted her wrist, the bracelet gleaming faintly in the light. "I made it during class. But Woodrue stole the original samples, along with everything else from my dorm. We still need to head back, grab my clothes, move them to your place."
Barbara's posture shifted at that, her hands falling still in her lap. "Yeah. I'm actually… looking forward to you moving in with me."
The words lingered in the air. Pamela allowed herself a faint smile before Barbara suddenly tapped her chin, eyes lighting with a new thought. "What if we call this place Midnight Madness?"
Pamela straightened, considering. "Midnight Madness… chaotic, dramatic, and memorable." She let the syllables roll over her tongue, then nodded firmly. "Yes. That works."
Barbara perked up, pointing toward her. "And if the base is Midnight Madness, then the organization we build…"
Pamela finished for her, lips curving with conviction. "Midnight Mayhem."
The words struck like a spark catching dry tinder. They sat with it a moment, the names echoing faintly against concrete walls.
Barbara's grin flickered, jealousy flashing across her features. "So… when you say organization… you mean including Harley Quinn? Or is this about her being blonde and gorgeous?"
Pamela chuckled, reaching for her hand. "Barbara, I would never cheat on you."
Barbara squeezed her fingers, her expression shifting from suspicion to amused challenge. "I wouldn't consider it cheating if we're adding her to us. But you'd have to be honest about it. Communication, remember?"
Pamela exhaled in mock defeat, lifting her hands as if surrendering. "Fine. You caught me. I've always thought about… a harem. Like in those anime I watched. Why is it acceptable for men in stories to collect wives, but not women?"
Barbara rolled her eyes, leaning back on her hands with a crooked smile tugging her lips. "You act like this isn't real life. But honestly, if guys in some cultures can have multiple wives, why can't you? Just don't forget—" She jabbed her thumb toward her chest. "I'm the first wife. I was here first."
Pamela leaned in, kissing her temple gently. "Of course you are."
Barbara let the moment pass before her voice dropped into seriousness again. "If Harley joins, she's not just another fling. She has to be treated as part of Midnight Madness, equal to us. Not some foot soldier out corralling thugs."
Pamela nodded firmly. "Agreed. But we'll need enforcers beneath us—captains, lieutenants. Like a mob family hierarchy."
Barbara's eyes sharpened. "Exactly. And we compartmentalize everything. One layer never sees the whole picture. No weak links. Batman thrives on pulling a thread until the whole sweater unravels. We don't give him the chance."
Pamela tapped her fingers thoughtfully against her knee. "Yes. Silos of command. Layers of secrecy. Our names never cross the bottom rung."
They sat shoulder to shoulder in the dim light, the weight of their ambitions pressing close. Above them, faint city noise seeped through an old manhole grate, reminding them that Gotham churned on overhead, unaware of the empire being conceived in its underbelly.
Pamela leaned her head briefly against Barbara's shoulder, voice soft but resolute. "Midnight Madness. Midnight Mayhem. Gotham won't know what hit it."
Barbara's lips curled in fierce agreement, her gaze fixed on the Unicorn waiting in the shadows. "Then let's make it happen."
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