Next up: Vicki Vale

The pizza delivery guy shook his head as he pulled up to the next address, still trying to wrap his mind around the absurdity of the night so far. First, a naked chick with B-cup breasts handing him pizza money like it was nothing. Then, a 6'4" orange-skinned goddess in nothing but panties, casually tipping him while her glowing green eyes pierced right through him.

He took a deep breath and muttered, "Alright, just one more. Keep it professional. It’s Gotham, weird stuff happens."

He parked the car and walked up to the door, reading the name on the order: Vicki Vale. He knew the name. *The* Vicki Vale. A famous journalist. Wasn’t she connected to Bruce Wayne at some point? He shrugged it off, thinking it was a coincidence.

He knocked on the door and waited. After a moment, the door swung open, and there she was—Vicki Vale, in the flesh. And not just in the flesh… in a pink lace bra and matching panties. She looked flustered, phone pressed to her ear, barely acknowledging him at first. The delivery guy’s eyes widened for the third time that night.

'What...is...happening...?'

Vicki was talking rapidly into her phone. “Yes, yes, I’ll have the report ready by morning. No, I don’t need you to check it, I can handle it myself. I know what I’m doing.”

She turned towards him, still distracted. “Just leave the pizza on the counter,” she said, waving him in without really looking at him.

The delivery guy hesitated for a second, then stepped inside, pizza box in hand. He couldn’t help but notice how absurdly attractive she was. Her body was toned, her curves accentuated by the pink lingerie. She was clearly too focused on the phone call to care that she was half-dressed, let alone that there was a random pizza guy standing in her apartment.

“Yeah, I’ll call you back, I have someone at the door,” Vicki finally said, ending the call with a sigh. She turned to him, her eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, the room felt like it froze.

“Uh... pizza?” he stammered, holding up the box like a peace offering.

Vicki blinked, realizing she’d left the poor guy standing there. “Oh! Right. Sorry, I’m a little... distracted.” She walked over, her long legs crossing the room in an almost hypnotic way. “How much do I owe you?”

“Uh, twenty dollars,” he replied, trying hard to keep his eyes on her face and not on the rest of her... situation.

She handed him a bill and, without missing a beat, brushed her hair back from her face. “Busy night, huh?”

“You have no idea,” he said, chuckling nervously.

Vicki looked him up and down, clearly noticing how flustered he was. “You okay there?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said quickly, “It’s just, uh, been a weird night, that’s all.”

She smiled, amused. “Gotham will do that to you.”

He nodded, deciding it was best to just nod and go with the flow at this point. As she set the pizza on the counter, she suddenly seemed to remember something. “Right, you need a tip, don’t you?”

The delivery guy waved it off. “No, no, that’s okay, you don’t have to—”

Vicki interrupted him, walking back towards him. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re getting a tip. What do I look like? Some cheap reporter?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that, especially considering the current state of her undress, so he just shook his head. “No, ma’am. Definitely not.”

Vicki smirked and pulled out a few bills from her purse. “Here. For the trouble.”

As she handed him the money, her phone buzzed again, and she sighed. “Duty calls.” She glanced back at him, this time with a more knowing look. “Take care of yourself out there. Gotham’s crazy, but somehow it never gets boring, does it?”

He nodded, his mind still reeling from the bizarre string of encounters. “Yeah... definitely.”

With that, Vicki turned back to her phone, picking up the call as the delivery guy made his exit, once again bewildered by what the hell just happened. 'Three orders in a row. What are the odds?'

As he walked back to his car, he shook his head with a small laugh. “Man, I’ve gotta start writing this stuff down.”