The glow from the overhead screens shifted across Barbara's face as one profile after another flashed above Astra Vane's desk. Numbers scrolled alongside faces—combat ratings, loyalty scores, histories with half-forgotten villains. Barbara's eyes tracked each detail with focus sharp enough to cut glass.
Then a new name filled the center screen.
Kira Strix.
Tall. Black hair cropped short, eyes glacial and unflinching. The photo showed her in black tactical gear, one hand holding a pistol mid-assembly, the other gripping a silencer. A faint scar traced her jawline, no makeup, no expression—just calm lethality.
Barbara raised her hand, steady. "I want her. Kira Strix. She'll be my first subordinate."
Pamela's lips curved faintly, her voice low and approving. "Excellent choice."
Barbara's cheeks warmed, though her posture didn't falter. "It's not just because she looks intimidating. She has firearm expertise at the highest level. That's essential. And her martial arts background will make her invaluable in close-quarters fights." Her eyes lingered on the screen. "The basic hacking skills are a bonus. We can't afford people who freeze when the job turns digital."
Pamela's gaze shifted to Harley, eyes glittering with intent. "Why don't you handle the rest of the recruitment? The plants will be my eyes and ears no matter what, but choosing muscle requires experience. You're the most seasoned of us, Harley. And now, an official member of Midnight Mayhem."
Harley blinked, then tilted her head, caught off guard by the trust. Slowly, a grin spread across her face. "You really trust me that much, Red? That's… kinda flattering."
Pamela leaned in slightly, her tone soft but edged with playfulness. "Of course. A beautiful woman like you deserves to be trusted with obscene amounts of money. I expect wonderful results."
Harley slapped a hand to her chest, fanning herself theatrically. "Sweetheart, that's my love language. Every villainess dreams of the day someone hands her a henchwoman budget with no strings attached."
Barbara shook her head, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.
Harley strutted back to Astra's desk, pointing at the screens as if conducting a symphony. "I'll take her. And her. That one. The twins. The tall gal with the cyber arm. The goth chick. The sniper with the buzz cut. And let's round it out with the mean-looking shorty carrying a plasma axe. Call it an even dozen."
Astra's fingers danced over the holographic keys, her expression never wavering. "That totals one hundred fifty thousand dollars. Which leaves fifty thousand in reserve. Do you want it credited to an account?"
Harley tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Yeah. Put it under our new organization name—Midnight Mayhem. Has a nice punch to it, don'tcha think?"
Astra's eyes flicked toward Pamela and Barbara, then back to Harley. "Consider it done. From now on, you'll have a standing account with the Undercarriage. Off-grid, untraceable."
Harley leaned forward just enough for her voice to dip into something sly. "Astra, you're wasted behind this desk. You ever think about switching sides? I could use a girl like you."
Astra adjusted her glasses, her gaze cool as ever. "You couldn't afford me, Quinn."
Harley laughed and stepped back, throwing her arms wide. "Give it time, babe. I'll make a believer outta you yet."
Astra's lips tugged at the corners, just barely. "I'll be waiting."
Harley turned on her heel and strolled back toward Pamela and Barbara, a bounce in her step. "All right, darlings. Our henchwoman shopping spree is complete. A dozen fresh recruits, professional-grade. Now comes the fun part—guns."
Pamela's eyes gleamed as she nodded. "Good. We'll need every edge."
Harley jerked her thumb down one of the glowing corridors. "Follow me. The Armory Division here makes WayneTech look like Fisher-Price. You've got one-fifty left to burn. Trust me, it'll go far."
Barbara slung the duffel bag back over her shoulder and glanced between them. "Then let's not waste time."
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