The garage air was thick with oil and the faint musk of Pamela's moss creeping along the corners of the concrete walls. She stretched with a yawn, rolling her shoulders as Barbara flicked her wrist to check her watch. A calendar page taped crookedly to the wall bore a reminder in black marker: Coffee with Harley @ 2pm. The Unicorn sat in the background, ugly and dented, its nanite-bonded frame hiding a predator's strength beneath a disguise of decay.
Barbara tapped the reminder with the back of her knuckle. "We better go grab your stuff from the university first. Then meet Harley. I set that up, remember?"
Pamela nodded, brushing dust from her jeans. "Right. Let's get moving before she thinks we stood her up."
The Unicorn rattled as they slid inside, its mismatched upholstery creaking under their weight. Pamela nudged an empty can aside with her foot while Barbara buckled in and started the engine. The growl beneath the hood was low, steady, betraying the hidden power that lurked under the car's rusted disguise.
Barbara glanced at her with a sideways smile. "Why don't we just call it the Rust Bucket?"
Pamela snorted, leaning back against her seat. "Please. This isn't a rust bucket. This is a rust boat. It floats through judgment like a barge of shame."
They both laughed, the sound echoing oddly in the closed, damp air of the base. Still laughing, they pulled up the ramp, the hidden door grinding shut behind them with a clang as the car merged onto a forgotten Gotham side street.
Midtown swallowed them quickly. Crowds moved along the sidewalks, students clutching books, vendors shouting over the buzz of traffic, commuters darting between crosswalks. Yet something strange unfolded. No one looked at the car. People who should have stared simply veered aside, glancing elsewhere as if their minds refused to register the battered machine rolling past.
Barbara frowned, hands tightening on the wheel. "Why does it feel like we're invisible right now?"
Pamela's lips twitched faintly. "Because we are. This car is so ugly it's a psychological blind spot."
To prove her point, a student nearly stepped into their path before jerking his gaze away, pretending the vehicle didn't exist. Pamela gestured toward him. "See? It's so hideous they'd rather believe it's not real. Eyesore therapy. Fight-or-flight."
Barbara let out a sharp laugh. "Batman's not even going to bother tracking this thing. He'll assume the poorest scum in Gotham are driving it."
Pamela patted the dashboard. "Exactly. Meanwhile, we've got nanite armor, reinforced suspension, AC, heated seats. Sure, there's a hole in the back floor, but—"
Barbara smirked faintly, eyes still on the road. "We'll cover it with a plate. Use it as a shootout hatch. Pop the cover, drop spikes, cops spin out. We vanish."
Pamela's tone softened. "You're brilliant."
"Also," Barbara added casually, "when we meet Harley later, ask her about guns. If she doesn't have access, we raid the GCPD armory. No paper trail."
Pamela nodded with approval. "Smart."
They rolled up to Gotham University's gates soon after. The Unicorn groaned as they eased into a far corner of the student lot. Pamela smoothed her clothes, while Barbara slung her backpack over one shoulder, nanite tools rattling softly inside. Together, they cut across campus, Pamela leading with steady strides through the buzz of conversations and the shuffle of other students.
The dormitory hallway smelled faintly of detergent and cheap perfume. Pamela was reaching for her door when a familiar voice lanced the air.
"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence."
Cindy stood across the hall, arms crossed, her white blouse crisp and her pink skirt pressed perfectly. But her eyes glittered with smug malice.
"Skipping classes, vanishing overnight," she added sweetly. "The dorm mom's been asking about you. You're lucky if you don't get detention for missing curfew, Pamela."
Pamela groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it nearly hurt. She gestured lazily toward Barbara. "Barbara, meet the green tea bitch who lives across the hall."
Barbara's gaze raked Cindy up and down before landing on her face, flat and unimpressed. "Yeah. She definitely looks like a bitch."
Cindy's mouth opened in offense. "Who the hell are you? How dare you talk to me like that? I'll have you know I'm a lady. Not some tramp sleeping off campus like Pamela Isley here."
Pamela pinched the bridge of her nose. "Cindy, don't be such a bitch, okay? Mind your own business before you end up in a dumpster somewhere."
The words drained the color from Cindy's face. She staggered back, one hand pressed to her chest. "Are you threatening me? I should report you to the Dean. You want to get expelled?"
Barbara's voice cut through, low and dry. "Oh my god. She's a full drama queen."
Pamela ignored Cindy and reached for her door, tossing a final remark over her shoulder. "Don't worry. If we get expelled, we'll take you down too. You know what you've been hiding in your bedroom drawer."
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