“You’ve seen it before, it happens all the time,” explained M. Freeze to his less-clean-than-himself compatriots.

“So if I walk through the door, I leave the world behind?” innocently inquired Earl.

“Earl, sometimes you just make me want to furrow my brow. How do you expect to lay these pearls of doom with that attitude? For shame.” Consider nuts laid.

After more hobo digressions consisting of almost entirely technical inquiries regarding metaphysical considerations that, while indeed shedding new light on the artistic end of things, were very inefficient as time was of the utmost importance.

“Time, is not on our side, rufflemen. The caped crusader ambles these here streets ardently on the prowl at night and I see no reason for tonight’s orgy of justice to be any different—we must begin!”

And with a lick and a split, and a nice big spit, M. Freeze and his crew began work on one of the darkest thousand year chapters in Gotham’s fair history: The Millennium of Aftermath.