Winner Take All

To Read A Mean Pinball, Part One of This Story, Click Here.

Although this trap had started with some "nice" aspects, now pain was by far its dominant feature. As Batgirl's tormentor continued to keep the first ball in play, the Caped Crimefightress managed to think, 'If this Playgirl hasn't rigged this game, she really does play a mean pinball!'

Through her agony, Batgirl pondered what the villainess' objective was in this game:
'To torture her? So what?
'To drive her mad with first ecstasy and then agony?
'To kill her?'

Just then the machine made a series of descending tones. Finally, a ball had gone down the "drain."

"Totally lame!" screamed Playgirl with a heave of her shoulders and a flutter of her eyes. "Ah, well, Batgirl," she continued with a shake of her head, "I've got, like, two balls to go, you know?"

Playgirl launched the second ball into action. Once again, the sensations Batgirl was feeling were almost pleasurable . . . but the Dark Knight Damsel knew that soon she would once again be undergoing quite a different form of passion.

Then a thought occurred to Batgirl. 'If Playgirl has actually designed this device like a real pinball machine . . . I might just have a chance.'

Slowly, Batgirl began to shift her weight from side to side. The bound heroine ignored the mild shocks and indelicate probing delivered by the machine as she swung her hips and torso back and forth.

Soon, Batgirl's rocking motion began to have an effect on the ball in play. "Hey! Like, what are you doing, Batgirl?" Playgirl complained. "I mean, like, stop it!!"

Finally, it dawned upon the blonde beauty what her adversary was up to. Her eyes bulged and her shoulders dipped as she yelled, "That is, like, soooo totally unfair! STOP IT!!"

Suddenly, the machine went completely dead, as if the power had been turned off! Batgirl had done it!! She had tilted the machine!!!

Not only that, but the restraints on her wrists and ankles had been magnetically sealed. Without power, they sprung open. It was an easy matter for Batgirl to pry herself out of the machine.

Batgirl was surprised and gratified to discover that, for once, her utility belt had not been removed. 'That just shows what a rookie this Playgirl is,' Batgirl reflected.

As soon as the machine had titled, Playgirl had taken off for the door of Archie Arcadian's Arcane Arcade as fast as she could skate. Her gang, however, had left games standing randomly in the aisles in the process of loading the truck, so Playgirl could not find a clear path to escape. Deftly, Batgirl threw a Batarang with attached Batrope after her fleeing opponent.

The Batarang whipped around Playgirl, the line binding her arms to her sides. The impact of the projectile, combined with the loss of the use of her arms, caused the Gangster Gal of Games to loose her balance. She rolled right into a Ms. PacMan game in her path.

"Ouch! This is, like, soooo totally bogus!" Playgirl exclaimed as Batgirl ran up to her. The purple, high-heeled warrior secured the rope to prevent the Perfidious Pinball Player from escaping.

"There! That ought to hold you!" Batgirl declared. Just then, the six bizarrely dressed members of Playgirl's gang re-entered the arcade.

"What?!?!" the first of them declared, seeing their leader tied up. Instantly, Batgirl was upon them, dispatching first one and then another with a series of high kicks and well-placed arm thrusts. Again, in just a matter of minutes, the entire gang had been rendered unconscious.

"Well, Playgirl, I guess this puts a quick end to your criminal career," Batgirl declared to her twenty-something enemy.

Playgirl, sitting on the floor with her back against the Ms. PacMan machine, glared up at Batgirl, a look of pure hatred on her face. "You'll, like, so totally regret this day, Batgirl! I'll be back, you know, and, I mean, when I'm done with you, you'll wish, like, you had never been born!!"

Nine months later . . .

Dean Owens was where he usually could be found after school: at the downtown Gotham City Arcade. Seventeen years old, Dean was an excellent student at Woodrow Roosevelt High School. In fact, if it weren't for the misfortune of being in the same class as Dick Grayson, he almost certainly would have been valedictorian.

In contrast to Bruce Wayne's ward, though, Owens was no athlete and was lacking in many social skills. Of slight build and standing five feet, nine inches tall, he wore black-rimmed glasses that seemed to be an extension of his hairline.

The youth liked girls, but was painfully shy. He had never actually been on what anyone else would call a date. Sure, he had helped a couple of his female classmates with some homework, but that was about it.

Three things made Dean Owens comfortable. One was schoolwork. Another was being on his computer at home. The activity that he enjoyed the most, however, was playing these video games . . . and right now he was playing his favorite.

This one had been out for almost a year now, but he still liked it better than any of the newer games. In this machine, the player put his eyes into a viewer, so that only he or she could see what was taking place. Dean was quite good at most of the games in the arcade, but he did not like other people watching him play. With this one, he was in his own little world . . .

and today was turning out to be a day to remember! He was in the highest level he had ever achieved and, the way it looked, he would soon reach the furthermost area anyone had reached on this particular machine.

'Yeah!' He did it! He waited with bated breath to see what surprises this next level had in store.

Slowly, a figure emerged out of a fog on the screen presented to him. He was astonished to discover that it was a beautiful woman, wearing a revealing outfit! She had on a red bikini top that barely contained her ample chest. Matching hot pants featured four white buttons down the front, while red high-heeled shoes completed the ensemble. The blonde seemed to be in her mid-twenties . . . and was quite honestly one of the most gorgeous women Dean had ever seen . . . anywhere!

Even more surprising, it seemed as if she was calling his name! Not with sound, but with words that formed in his mind!! 'Dean, Dean . . . I need you!'

He decided to try to answer the same way. 'Who are you?' he thought.

'I'm Playgirl.' Like most Gothamites, Owens followed the exploits of the Caped Crusaders. He remembered reading something about a Playgirl battling Batgirl. Dean also recalled that her trial was finally set to begin, after weeks of legal maneuvering, in the next few days.

'What do you want?'

'I want you!' the voice in his head declared. 'You wouldn't have received this message unless I needed your help and unless you were smart . . . very, very smart . . . and that's what I need. Not fools like those that worked with me before but . . . a man like you.'

Dean Owens was not a bad person . . . but to have such a woman needing him, wanting him! All his moral defenses fell. All resistance faded. He was willing to follow her anywhere, to obey her every command.

'Here is what I need you to do . . .'

Playgirl kept looking back over her shoulder, virtually ignoring what her attorney was saying. She scanned the packed courtroom for the one face that would be her ticket to freedom.

Playgirl was far more cunning than her "mallspeak" would lead one to believe. She had realized that even she might be captured by Batman, Robin and/or Batgirl. That was one of the risks of operating in Gotham City. In fact, that was why she had adopted the persona of the Gangster Gal of Games in the first place - for the challenge of defeating The Terrific Trio!

So, before she had committed her first crime, she had gimmicked several video games for just this eventuality. If she was caught and didn't reset the machines, they would recruit her an ally. Somebody no one would ever suspect . . .

"Playgirl! You're not listening to me!" complained Lucky Pierre. Pierre had been able to rehabilitate his reputation after the Catwoman/Joker fiasco. He made a good living representing many of Gotham City's costumed criminals in court, but he had accepted this case with some trepidation.

"I do wish you would give your real name," Pierre went on. "Every time someone calls you Playgirl, it just re-enforces your guilt in the jury's minds."

"Whatever!" Playgirl replied absently.

Playgirl turned back to the crowd. Suddenly, 'There!' Playgirl thought. 'That must be him!!' Many of the young men in the spectators' area had their eyes fixated on her, but this one, sitting next to the center aisle, appeared to be staring at the woman in the dock through extremely dark sunglasses!

'Hmmm,' she considered, looking Dean over. 'Not bad. I could have done worse.
'Now, if he's followed my instructions and waits for my signal . . .'

Laying on the prosecutor's table, waiting to be introduced into evidence, was Playgirl's two-headed quarter. Playgirl had used it to activate the pinball machine in which she had trapped Batgirl. New District Attorney Harvey Dent was about twenty minutes into his opening statement, when Playgirl put both of her hands tightly over her eyes.

Dean had in his jacket an object that looked like nothing more than a 24 inch long, round mailing tube. One just like it could be purchased for $2.40 at the Packaging Products display of the United States Post Office in the lobby of the building. Containing no metal, just cardboard and plastic, the device foiled the metal detector Dean had to walk through when he entered the Courthouse.

Now he pulled it out, pointing it forward and towards the ceiling. Dean pressed the small plastic button on the one closed end. An object shot out and arced to a point just above and in front of the judge's bench. D.A. Dent had just turned to his left when

POOF!!!

An impossibly bright, super-magnesium flare exploded in the courtroom! Everyone, except Playgirl and Dean, was rendered temporarily blind! Dent screamed in pain as the left side of his face was horribly burned!

Playgirl shot up and ran down the center aisle, following Dean who led the way. They bolted through the courtroom doors, sprinted across the hall and vaulted down the steps to the first floor. They turned left and then right, leaving the building via a side emergency exit. Within a minute and forty-five seconds, the duo was in Owens' car and on their way to Playgirl's hideout.

Less than thirty minutes later, Playgirl and Owens entered a loft apartment in an old warehouse. Although Dean had been living there since his encounter with the rigged coin-operated device earlier that month, the place was still quite dusty. Pinball machines and video games lined the walls of a large central room, which also contained a kitchen. Doors led off to a couple of bedrooms, with a connecting bathroom between.

Now that they were finally alone, Playgirl turned to her young recruit and drawled, "Come here, you!" She gave the teenager a passionate kiss on the lips. 'That should tide him over for a while,' the manipulative temptress thought.

As the boy stood, stunned and dazed, Playgirl crossed the room to a cabinet and slid out a drawer. Pleased to find that her handiwork was still where she had left it, the buxom beauty smiled as she pulled a headset out of the drawer.

"What . . . now?" Dean managed to stammer.

Playgirl looked down at her conservative courtroom attire. "First, I'm going to, like, get out of these totally dreary clothes. Then, you can help me activate this satellite uplink system."

His curiosity aroused, the scientifically astute teen questioned, "Satellite uplink?"

"Yes, dear boy. I had this all set to go when Batgirl intervened during my little, like, shopping trip, you know?
"Batgirl may have, like, delayed my plans, but soon, we will take the first step towards making all of Gotham City play by my rules . . . and wreaking my revenge upon Batgirl!"

The next morning, Kathy Kane was working in her private office at Networld, her highly successful software company. Unlike Bruce Wayne, Kathy Kane relished business: making deals, developing new software, designing ad campaigns. She was working on her annual message to the shareholders, when the intercom buzzed.

Her secretary, just a couple of years younger than Kathy, announced, "Ms. Kane, there's a Ms. Hefner to see you - Hey! You can't go in there!"

Suddenly, the doors burst open. A statuesque brunette with a teenage boy in tow entered the room with a flourish. Her companion was carrying a rather large case. Katherine Kane rose to her feet.

"Ms. Kane," the intruder announced, "with the product I have here, Kathy Kane's Networld will make people forget all about Bill Gates and Microsoft!"

"I tried to stop them!" the secretary cried. "Should I call security?"

"No, that's all right, Jeffrey. Thank you." The secretary returned to the reception area, closing the doors behind him.

Kathy turned to the woman, who seemed to be just about her height and age. "That's quite a claim, Ms. . . . ?"

"Hefner. Jenny Hefner. If you'll allow me to demonstrate?"

"By all means."

Jenny's assistant, Dean, plopped the case down on Kathy Kane's desk. The disguised Playgirl pulled out what looked like a headset and a miniature satellite dish. "Dean, set this up by that window over there, will you please?"

"What's that for?" asked the curious Katherine Kane.

"That, Ms. Kane, is an integral part in my design of this next generation of games," Jenny proclaimed proudly. "It solves all data storage problems. Instead of a one-time sale of memory chips, a direct satellite downlink will allow massive amounts of information to be delivered to the customer's game without having to worry about the vicissitudes of an Internet connection.

"Now, if you will put this on . . ."

Kane took the proffered headset uncertainly. It consisted of earphones and two pieces that seemed to be designed to project images into each eye. "What are these?" asked Kathy, indicating the eyepieces.

"Images will be projected directly onto your retinas by means of two tiny laser beams," Playgirl explained. "It has been thoroughly tested. I assure you, it is quite safe and allows the most vivid gaming experience ever produced."

The billionaire businesswoman examined the laser projectors skeptically. Kathy knew nothing about this woman or her machine and here she was, asking Kathy to allow her device to shine a laser beam directly into the President of Networld's eyes. On the other hand, Katherine Kane had not become a billionaire without being something of a risk-taker . . . and Kathy had heard a little about the development of this kind of technology.

Cautiously, Kane put the headset on.

"Now, if you will please sit down," directed "Ms. Hefner."

"The satellite dish transmits a signal that can be picked up anywhere within the room." Taking Kathy's right hand, the super-villainess in disguise placed it over a button on the right earphone. "Push this button to start the game. Push it again anytime you want to turn it off."

Kathy pushed the button. Instantly, she was transported into another world! Jungle sounds greeted her ears, while a verdant view appeared before her. After giving her a few seconds to become acclimated to her apparent change of locations, words began to come into view. A male voice read the words as well.

The instructions explained how she would be able to control her "character" in this world with just movements of her eyes. Practice targets were presented. Kathy quickly mastered moving them. Then the game began in earnest.

The software magnate blushed when her "character" was revealed. It was a sleek, tanned and toned young man, who had the appearance of being in his late teens or early twenties. Sporting long blonde hair, he was naked except for a thong! Kathy had never been attracted to a computer generated character before, but she admitted to herself that this one was . . . compelling.

The action of the game was simple enough. The player was to maneuver the character through various "Indiana Jones" type adventures to claim some treasure. Kathy was doing quite well, when all of a sudden the game went dead.

"What happened?" she asked, taking off the headset.

"Oh, the player buys time in thirty minute blocks, with a credit card either over the Internet or by telephone," Playgirl explained. "Your free, introductory time has expired."

"Thirty minutes!" Kathy could hardly believe she had been playing that long. A quick check of her wristwatch, however, verified the veracity of Jenny's statement. "What do you call that game?" Ms. Kane wanted to know.

"Crypt Robber, starring Larry Craft," announced "Ms. Hefner."

Kathy Kane stood and gave Jenny a condescending look.

"Of course we will change the name before we release it to the public," Playgirl added. "This is for demonstration purposes only. Actually, I imagined Networld would design the software, for this hardware I've designed. Still, I like the idea of a game designed with a female audience in mind, don't you?"

Katherine smiled. "I think you may really have something here. Do you have legal counsel representing you?"

Jenny nodded her assent.

"Good," Kathy went on. "Why don't you have your lawyer call here, so we can start working out some of the details?"

"Great, Ms. Kane," Playgirl answered. "That will be fine.
"In the meantime, why don't I just leave the game here with you? You can have your technicians examine it . . . or," Playgirl laughed, "even play some more if you want."

Playgirl continued, almost apologetically, "Of course, I'll have to charge you. I can't give my game away. It was quite costly to develop. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, no problem at all," Kathy replied. "Uh, why don't you give me the number to call or the Internet address . . . just in case one of my techies wants to give it a try."

"Sure!" Playgirl gave Kane the information, then said her goodbyes. Dean Owens and "Ms. Hefner" walked out of the office together. Once the door had closed behind them, Kathy sat down to continue work on the stockholder's message.

After a few frustrating minutes, however, the businesswoman discovered she couldn't concentrate. There was something strangely compelling about Crypt Robber. 'Maybe it's watching Larry's cute little butt wiggle around!' Kathy thought to herself with a smile. 'Anyway,' she decided, 'I'd rather play this a little more than eat. I'll take an early lunch.'

She buzzed her secretary. "Jeffrey, I don't want to be disturbed until further notice. Hold all my calls."

"Yes, Ms. Kane," he dutifully answered.

Kathy Kane dialed the telephone number she had been given. A mechanical voice answered. "Thank you for calling the Crypt Robber order line. The current rate for thirty minutes of game time is $500 . . ."

"Five hundred dollars!" Kathy gagged. 'Well,' she reasoned, 'I'm probably their first and only customer so far. They must figure I can afford it.'

Kathy started to hang up the phone . . . but she paused. 'Hmmm, I guess as a sign of good faith, I might as well be a sport and give Ms. Hefner some return on her investment,' she rationalized. She ordered three units and entered her credit card number on her touch tone phone.

Playgirl and Dean returned to their hideout. The Gangster Gal raced over to her computer.

"Ha!" she cried. "Ms. Kane has been playing, like, ever since we left. Soon, she'll be like totally, hopelessly addicted!"

"Yeah!" Dean agreed. "And to think you got the idea from an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation!"

"Yes!" Playgirl crowed. "There's no technology existent today that would allow me to brainwash my victims like that race of evil women did on TV, you know, but I can overstimulate the players' pleasure centers, thereby hooking them on my game!

"Before long, I will have completely drained Kathy Kane's fortune from her! With the assets of Networld at my command, it won't be long before I'll control hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of people! Politicians, the police, everyday citizens - willing to do whatever I tell them just so they can get their electronic fix!!"

As Playgirl got more and more excited, all "lazyspeak" dropped out of her vocabulary, just as it had when she talked with Kathy Kane. "And soon . . . very soon, if all goes according to plan, we'll have Batman, Robin, and especially Batgirl as our own personal slaves! Yee Ha Ha Ha HA!!!"

A little while later, inside her private office, Kathy again dialed the Crypt Robber order line. The voice recited, "The current rate for thirty minutes of game time is $4,000 . . ." After only a moment's hesitation, Katherine Kane punched in her credit card number.

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