Somewhere on the streets of New Gotham, Reese The Police is admiring his ring, the one with the Birds of Prey logo on it, given to him by Helena. Having already, I assume, shown it off to the boys down at the precinct, he decides to use its Page Huntress feature. He squeezes it, touching off a blue electrical flash on it. An ambulance drives by, lights flashing. Reese might want to pull over the people driving the phony ambulance, though; the word "ambulance" on the front isn't spelled in reverse for better readability in rearview mirrors. But he's got no time, since Huntress whooshes up on the street in front of him. "What can I do for you, detective?" she purrs at him. He's too freaked out by her quick response time, though, and she says she's known for it. Somehow it's supposed to be sexual innuendo, I guess, but I'm not following. Wait, maybe it wasn't supposed to be innuendo, since the writers haven't demonstrated much subtlety thus far. Let's call it "obviendo." And when the exchanges start taking on such elements of obviendo as this one does, you know you're supposed to think it's about sex, even though it's completely obvious it's not. Like, when Reese asks if Huntress has considered what he said, and she says, "About taking it to the next level?" and Reese starts blah-blahing lame lines about seeing if they're "compatible" and "if they fit together" and that kind of thing, you know they're not talking about sex. Reese says he figures this will be a good way for them to get to know each other. "Sounds good," says Helena, "because the truth of the matter is, detective, there's a lot of things you don't know about me." Reese says, "I don't even know your real name." Oh, wait, no he didn't. Just force of habit on my part.
Heavy guitar riff whips us through the city to some lame bar that looks suspiciously like the same place Guy destroyed a couple of weeks ago. It's very red. And the music sucks. And everybody's in slow motion. And some people riding motorcycles burst in through some double doors, as people start screaming, since these party-poopers are wearing animal masks and yelling ridiculous things like "let's get it on" and "thirty seconds" and "welcome to tonight's show. Price of admission: your valuables." Actually, they're not so much yelling it as they're saying it at a normal volume, while the screams of the terrified Crappy Club patrons are muted in the background. If any show could make an armed robbery completely devoid of tension, it's this one. Did one of the thieves just say, "Please, no knockoffs. We're a class act"? He did, didn't he? Why are these clubgoers screaming and not laughing? And please shut up, woman yelling "twenty seconds" in the classic clichéd way of showing what a really well-organized band of thieves it is. A woman wearing a cat mask -- WHOSE IDENTITY WE DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW, DO WE -- notices the bartender pulling out a shotgun. Bang! What's up with that thang? Helena -- I mean, "the mysterious woman in the cat mask" slides the length of the bar, knocking the shotgun out of the bartender's arms and into the air. She catches the shotgun and then downs someone's leftover drink on a nearby table, which is both nasty and also ludicrous, since her mask clearly doesn't have a functioning mouth. The timekeeper says, "Time! We're out!" and the rest of the gang busts out some rhyming quips that are really too mind-bogglingly annoying to reprint here. And the thieves leap on their motorcycles and peel out into the night, with the cat woman ripping off her mask. Oh my god, it's Helena! Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding, I'd start a revolution!