As Captain Cold, the Mirror Master, the Weather Wizard, and Murmur walked towards "Kitty's," Len Snart, Evan McCulloch, Mark Marsden and Dr. Michael Amar's jaws dropped. Being crammed in an apartment with four other asylum- eligible freaks with nothing but board games had not only driven each other to the point of insanity, but prevented them from doing things men like to do with women. Sure, the fact that they were wanted felons didn't help their romanticism, but they were sexually starved, nonetheless (they'd be seen if they tried to go to the magazine stand on the corner).
Thus, when the opportunity arose for them to feast their eyes on the glory of another female body on somebody else's cash, it was quickly taken. Captain Cold smiled as he pushed open the sparkling purple door to "Kitty's." They were greeted with the best sight they'd set their eyes on in a month. The carpets and walls were orange. Near the back was a door covered with gypsy beads, and a mirror revealed overweight, overpaid, middle-aged men sweating as women young enough to be their daughters wore next to (and in some cases) nothing as they rubbed...themselves....against their crotches. As the Rogues were fantasizing, Mirror Master called to them. "Oi! Look at th't one! Ain't she a fox?!"
"Nc rck," futily admired Murmur. Len Snart smiled from ear to ear as he looked at the scantily clad figure prancing about the stage. She twirled herself around the long, smooth (don't get the wrong idea, you pervert) pole. Next to the girl willing to bear it all for a quick buck, two men urged her on with calls of "Take it off!" "Work it, baby!" and "How 'bout you grind against my fucking pole?!" They flashed one-hundred dollar bills at the stripper. Murmur gritted his teeth and his eyebrows hung over his buggy iris-less eyes. "Wtch ths," he said. He put his hand inside his trenchcoat, and turned down the collar. He walked over to the two guys. Shadows covered his face. The two polo-shirt sporting guys looked at their attacker. "What do you want, fuckface?" asked the one with a black shirt. Amar stared at them. Then the other guy laughed at him. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or did you just read a Namor comic?" Murmur stepped out of the shadows. He stretched his sewn lips so that the seams were clearly visible and prominent. He took out his blade. The two guys looked at each other. One muttered "Oh, shit." Then, large liquid stains started to ooze down their khaki pants from the crotch. Back at the bar, the other Rogues laughed their asses off.
Thanks to (as Weather Wizard called them) the Piss-a-Lot Twins, the stripper was now left with nobody but the supervillainous Rogues of Keystone City. McCulloch called over the girl. She strutted over, swaying her hips and holding the sides of her thin, little, obviously anorexic stomach. "Hey," she said. "For only a hundred bucks, you can get the best time of your life..."
"We'll take four," replied Snart.
"F-f-four?!" she assured.
"Yeah. Four. For me and these three bitches."
"Umm....sure. Oh. That'll be four hundred."
"Give her the money, Marsden." He turned to the Weather Wizard. "Come on, Marsden. Give her the money."
"Uhh...What money?" he asked.
"The cash! From the theater! That we sto--" he remembered that they were in public. "—found!"
"Wait...Oh...Crap...I think I...uhh...kinda....forgot to get it..."
"YOU WHAT?!" Mirror Master interrupted the now-homicidal Cold. "Now, gents. Don' worry 'bout it. I'm sure th's lov'ly broad'll give us a free show. Eh, babe?"
"WHAT?!?!" She slapped him across the face, and two huge bouncers came and escorted the Rogues out of the building.