As dawn broke on the horizon the following morning, a paddy wagon pulled up to the gates of Gotham State Penitentiary. In the back of the vehicle, the Siren studied her traveling companion with idle curiosity.

"Aren't you Blaze from the Falseface organization?" the Siren asked. "I thought you had reformed."

The dark-haired woman shrugged. "Ehh…didn't take."

"Well, at least you gave it a try. I could never reform for even two minutes. I just can't be good - it's not in my nature."

"I know what you mean. Getting nabbed right now really messes up my plans. I had a commitment for gainful employment from someone who's been hiring every super-villain moll in sight - would've been a real sweet gig."

"That's a shame," said the Siren, feigning interest.

"It is. By the way, do you play softball?"

The Siren scoffed. "Certainly not."

The paddy-wagon lurched to a stop and the back doors were presently unlocked and opened. The Siren stepped out cautiously and looked up at her surroundings. The stark concrete architecture of the prison loomed on the horizon in all directions. She watched a flock of birds as they flapped freely overhead before vanishing from her view behind one of the massive block-shaped watchtowers.

Two armed female guards appeared to show the Siren to her lodgings for the foreseeable future. As she was being led away, she recognized the Joker passing by in the opposite direction.

The Crown Prince of Crime was chuckling and rubbing his hands in glee. With his request for an early parole granted, he was enjoying being escorted out to the front gates – and freedom.

Warden Chrichton removed his pipe from his mouth to share some words of wisdom with the hyperactive albino. "I do hope you'll refrain from any more of this flying saucer nonsense."

"While you're at it, I'd stay away from pre-atomic submarines, too," Ted the Guard warned.

"Oh, dear, you fellows don't leave me with too many transportation options, do you?" the Joker said. A troubled look crossed his face, but only briefly. "Well, I guess I'll be merrily motoring with the masses, then. Any other requests?"

"Yes," said Chrichton. "This time, I'd strongly advise you to avoid associating with little green men."

"Well, you know, he wasn't really that little – more of a mid-size green man."

"All the same, you'd do well to exercise caution in that area."

From a distance, several sets of eyes watched the Joker emerging from the entrance to the penitentiary. The Joker waved farewell to his escorts and strolled off down the street, whistling to himself. Several blocks behind him, a powerful car engine purred to life.

(Bat Spin)

Honest Gabe's House of Deathtraps catered to a clientele with highly specialized needs. If one required a giant magnifying glass, a machine gun-turreted sarcophagus, or an oxygen-sucking vacuum chamber, one went to Honest Gabe's. And, like a snake returning to it's skin, the Joker seemed irresistibly drawn back to this favorite old haunt.

He found the proprieter in the midst of making a sales pitch to a new customer: an elderly oriental gentleman who was short one arm and one leg.

"It's the latest thing for the mobility-challenged," Honest Gabe was saying. "It's called the bionic appendage. No longer will you hobble down the street in shame. Now you can hobble with style and panache!"

"Ahh, Honest Gabe – good to see you!" the Joker said loudly, putting an arm around the salesman's shoulder. "Tell me, my good man, do you carry any devices capable of re-routing the control to an automobile's steering? Possibly something that could be operated from a hand-held remote?"

"What do you need this to accomplish?" asked Honest Gabe. "And for what type of vehicle?"

"Indulge my whimsical mood, if you will. Let us say something with tendrils….unyielding, suffocating tendrils. Do you have any such device that would fit, say, the approximate dimensions of a deluxe-model hearse?"

"I certainly do. However, I only have one in stock and it's already been reserved by King Tut."

"Perhaps I could persuade you to part with…"

"Tut's already paid for it and is picking it up tomorrow. If you need one, I can back order it and you'll have it in a month."

Honest Gabe noticed that his elderly customer had come across an item that caught his interest. The old man was standing transfixed in front of a rusty metal chair contraption. Disengaging himself from the Joker, Gabe headed over to see if he could make a quick sale.

"You've got a sharp eye there, my friend. Don't let the ragged appearance deceive you. This item is a classic, no doubt about it."

Becoming annoyed, the Joker put a hand on Gabe's elbow. "You haven't time for me? I've given you steady business for nearly a decade…and it's the Joker you send to the end of the line?"

"Certainly we appreciate your business, Mr. Joker, but given the brief life span of most super-villainy careers, I'm sure you'll agree that we need to do whatever we can to support up-and-coming local entrepreneurs."

"Bah!"

This exchange went unnoticed by the old man, who was still gaping at the metal chair and the oval-shaped headpiece attached just above it. He had come to the store immediately upon hearing of its whereabouts from his old friend, one Mr. Klink.

"A glorious day for the League of the New Order. The Colonel's information was correct," he whispered. "The key to victory over the Allies has just fallen into our hands!"

"VICTORY OVER THE ALLIES?

WHAT ON EARTH CAN THIS FELLOW MEAN?"