"CENSUS TIME IN GOTHAM CITY: A TIME FOR JUBILATION…AS THE CITIZENRY GLADLY DOES ITS DUTY TO STAND AND BE RECOGNIZED. HOWEVER, NOT ALL GOTHAMITES WELCOME RECOGNITION"

His census duties satisfactorily completed, Mr. Chitt waved goodbye to the jumping, cheering children in apartment 1G. He smiled, always thankful for the opportunity to pep-talk a group of kids into a patriotic frenzy. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the first 2nd floor apartment door he arrived at. He heard what sounded like someone cursing in a foreign language inside. Long moments ticked by before the door finally opened to reveal an elderly man leaning on a crutch.

"Yes?"

"Good morning, sir. My name is Bill Chitt and I'm with the Federal Census Bureau. May I have a moment of your time?"

"No. You represent the U.S. government?"

"That's right. This will only take a minute. The 1970 federal census is an important process, and we need your help to get every last person counted. Otherwise, Metropolis might get more federal funding than we do, and who wants to see that?"

Not waiting to receive an invitation to enter, Chitt wormed his way into the dimly lit apartment. He now realized that the man had a peg leg and a false hand in addition to the crutch. Chitt took a seat and flipped over a fresh census form.

"Now then, what is your current occupation?"

"My…occupation?" The old man gave a disgusted cackle. "You see before you…the harbinger of your country's doom. I have returned to Gotham to bring about the downfall of your civilization."

"And what type of work does that involve?" Chitt's pen was still poised for use, waiting to record the first intelligible piece of information he could get.

"Know now that my wrath is beyond measurement. I shall mock your pleas for mercy as I ascend inexorably to my rightful place of power, bringing with me the Empire's glorious rebirth."

"I'll just put 'self employed.' 'Which of the following most accurately…'"

"I will feast on your nation's suffering," the gentleman hissed, deep in thought. "Defeat and darkness are hovering over the Allies' doorstep!"

Beginning to suspect that he was speaking with a crackpot, Chitt decided to move on. "Let's just skip that question. Could I have your name?"

"The name whose utterance makes…women faint…children scream, men tremble. All will bow before Doctor Tito Daka! Daka, avenging warrior of doom….Daka, loyal agent of the Emperor, heavenly ruler and prince of the Rising Sun!"

"Is that spelled with a 'c' or a 'k'?"

Chitt suddenly became aware of a large object partially covered by a sheet that sat behind Daka over in a corner. "That's an odd contraption. Is that a hair dryer?"

Before his host could think of an answer, the curious bureaucrat got to his feet and approached it for a closer examination. The portion of the sheet that had slipped down revealed part of an old, iron chair. A large bell-shaped attachment, obviously intended to fit over the occupant's head, hung suspended just above it.

Stifling his rage for the moment, Daka eased himself towards the kitchen. "Ahh, please excuse for one moment."

He limped through the kitchen and entered a back room. Hanging on the wall of the room were dozens of different, bizarre prosthetic hands. Daka unscrewed the lifelike prosthetic that was currently attached to his wrist, and replaced it with a false hand that clutched a pistol in its grip. He returned to the main room to find the census worker pulling aside the sheet covering his iron chair.

"Meddling government inquisitor!" he said, brandishing the firearm menacingly. "Since you are so interested in my chair, surely you must want to sit in it."

Shoving the startled worker into the chair, Daka kept the gun-hand trained on him as he strapped the man's arms tightly to the chair arms. Daka then lowered the opaque, ominous-looking hood over the bureaucrat's head.

"You will soon find yourself undergoing an abrupt shift in allegiances. From now on, you serve a different master – the League of the New Order."

"Please, sir, I was just…"

Daka threw a lever on a switchboard behind the chair. Sounds of electrical buzzing and popping filled the air and the lights momentarily dimmed due to the sharp surge in power consumption. Lights flashed around the startled bureaucrat's face.

After a minute, the noises and lights stopped. Daka freed the stunned census worker from the straps and placed a smaller headband-shaped piece around Chitt's head. Daka opened a drawer and removed a microphone.

He flipped the switch to 'on' and spoke. "Chitt, stand up." Chitt slowly stood.

"Good. You will henceforth be a zombie, existing only to obey my orders. Now, fetch your briefcase. I have errands for you."

(Bat Spin)

Back at the Joker's warehouse, the two henchmen hefted their guns and grinned in anticipation. Seeing that Batman was about to die, Undine weighed the benefits of going downstairs to witness the momentous execution up close. Although averse to the possibility of bloodstains on her all-white attire, she decided that a snapshot was called for to mark the occasion.

The Joker sat straight up in the passenger seat of the Batmobile to check on the progress of Robin's assignment. He could discern the Boy Wonder's outline a good half mile away from the warehouse, close to trotting his view. The Joker picked up the remote control box. Through her palms, still tied to the steering wheel, Batgirl felt the powerful car kicking into first gear.

"Now, let's see, silly me, what was it that Batman told me not to do to his car?" the Joker asked.

The Batmobile suddenly lurched forward into a group of garbage cans. There was a loud clatter as the cans toppled about in all directions. The Joker laughed in delight as he maneuvered the car around the warehouse.

"Oh, that's right! I'm not supposed to scratch it! And what else I was to be certain to avoid? Why, I believe it was to avoid any scrapes!"

Batgirl turned her head towards a series of sparks and a loud noise coming from her left. The teeth-grinding sound continued as the Batmobile grazed the edge of the rusty garage door in its exit from the warehouse.

Batman was straining against his bonds, a tortured expression on his features. Through the Batmobile's rearview mirror, the Joker intently observed the caped crusader's anguished reaction. The cherished image of the grimacing hero, surrounded by gun-toting thugs, slowly receded in the distance as the car left the caped crusader behind. The Joker sighed.

"Ah, you know, I'm really going to miss him."

"Then let him live!" exclaimed Batgirl. "It's not too late to stop your men!"

"Oh, just listen to yourself, my dear: so innocent, so naïve in the ways of men. Batman and I have too much history, too many occasions of wounded dignity and bruised countenances. Water passes under our respective bridges no longer."

"But wouldn't that be the worst punishment you could put Batman through? Forcing him to live with the knowledge that you had set him free out of pity?"

The Joker sat with furrowed brow, mulling over this notion.

"Hmm. That's not bad," he said after a moment. "Not too shabby an idea at all. Maybe I'll take that approach with Robin after I show him Batman's corpse."

"Why are you doing all of this?" Batgirl said, tugging angrily at her bonds. "And why is it so important that Commissioner Gordon die? He's a decent man just doing his job."

"I guess it is a bit of a stretch to claim that I really care whether Gordon lives or dies. Sadly, the Caped Crouton's real family is unknown to me and beyond my clutches. So I'm just forced to work with the material that's available. Now then, didn't Batman also mention something about dents in his car?"

The Joker applied the vehicle's brakes, but not before the Batmobile rammed into a pedestrian, knocking the unfortunate man to the ground unconscious. It was obvious to Batgirl that the Joker had intentionally waited to hit the brakes. She saw that the fallen man was William Wumpington, the manager of the Savings and Loan that had just been robbed. Ignoring the injured man, the Joker drove on.

"And what was that Batman said about smoking? Hmm, let me puff thoughtfully on this cigar while I try to remember."

"Joker, you fiend!" Batgirl said. "You must put an end to this!"

The Joker used the Batmobile's cigarette lighter to light his obnoxiously large cigar.

"Say, did you see which pocket I removed this cigar from? It was the left one, correct?" the Joker asked, taking a tentative puff. "Hope this isn't one of the trick ones. Oh, good – it's a Cuban."

Smoking contentedly, he replaced the cigarette lighter. As soon as the lighter was inserted back in it's socket, a new light lit up on the Batmobile's dashboard.

"Self diagnostic test initiated," said a computer voice from within the vehicle.

"Self…what?" said the Joker in astonishment. Pinging noises sounded from the handle-bars of the steering wheel.

"Foreign elements detected," said the computer voice. The Joker didn't know what that meant, but he didn't like the sound of it.

The engine seemed to cut off for a second before restarting hesitantly. His concern building, the Joker looked down at his cigar and quickly tossed it out the window.

"There!" the Joker said bitterly. "The Cuban's history! I hope you're happy now, you infernal instrument! The foreign elements are gone!"

Hearing some odd engine sounds behind him, Robin slowed his pace and looked back at the Batmobile. It was jerkily stopping and starting in the middle of the street, seemingly torn on what it wanted to do.

Inside the car, Batgirl felt the coils about her arms loosen. She pulled fiercely and managed to yank her right arm completely free of the wires. However, the tendrils tightened again about her left arm and the car gradually picked up speed again. The Batmobile's internal scan had interrupted the control of the Joker's remote, but only temporarily.

Whipping out her free arm, the dominoed daredoll backhanded her captor in the nose.

SMEK!

The Joker cried out as his head snapped back. "Ow! What did you do that for?! I didn't hit you!"

Batgirl blocked an answering fist from the Joker. "You fell for the dynamic duo's trick like an amateur!" she said. "You should have learned by now that Batman would never allow a cigarette lighter in the Batmobile. You activated the self-diagnostic test for him! All he had to do was order you not to smoke!" She used her forearm to misdirect another punch from the Joker.

"We'll see who has the last laugh, Batgirl," he growled, falling back on standard old, quips while he concentrated on punching out his traveling companion.

Before the Joker could connect with his first blow, Batgirl seized the remote control from him. He grabbed for it, but she tossed it down the left side of the car seat. He gripped her by the throat with one hand and stretched over to reach the device with the other. Batgirl used her free arm to grab him by the belt. Giving a good yank, she lifted and tossed the Joker from the moving vehicle. He landed headfirst in the street.

Robin was already sprinting towards the unconscious villain. As the Batmobile approached, Batgirl called out, "Robin, get in! They're about to shoot Batman!"