Batgirl and Killer Moth in:  Calamity of the Condiment King!

The wind howled as Killer Moth skulked among the HVAC units, carrying with it the distant sounds of late night interstate traffic on it's hot, dry air.  Quietly he crept towards the domed skylights that ringed the main theatre of the exhibition hall, his lockpicking tools in hand.  Carefully he exposed and clipped the wires of the security system, his bypass modules ensuring that no alarms would sound as he made his desce-

"I thought moths only swarmed when the lights are on."

Startled, Killer Moth dropped his tools and spun around to see the lithe figure of Batgirl sitting coquettishly on an air unit, smugly smiling down at him and wagging her finger.

"YOU!"

"Me."

"Why are you, how did you, how are you already here?"

"Oh come on, Moth,"  Batgirl dismissively chuckled as she kicked off the HVAC unit and flipped over Killer Moth, twisting gracefully in mid-air to land facing him, "an exhibit of themed artwork entitled 'Lepidoptera' made it inevitable you'd show up.  And we both know you're a bad boy if I'm not around to stop you."

"I thought you liked bad boys!" Moth hissed as he threw a wild haymaker.  Batgirl stepped back, and braced herself as she ducked away from Moth's fist, giving her a firm stance that she used to spring forward into a jump kick that glanced off his helmet.

"Oooo, someone's been practicing," Batgirl cooed as Killer Moth recovered and shifted to a defensive stance, "trying to impress me?"

Killer Moth carefully circled, his guard up and feinting slighting, trying to provoke a reaction he could exploit into an opening, "Don't need to impress someone who spends all her time following me around."  Batgirl narrowed her eyes and raised her fists, mirroring his footsteps and feints as they circled each other, waiting for the right moment.

"MY MY, WE'RE GETTING A BIT HOT AND SAUCY HERE, AREN'T WE!"

Batgirl and Killer Moth both turned in confusion to the source of yelling, only to be drenched in a thick red liquid.  Standing atop the roof access stood a man clad in a black onesie with a pair of red briefs over top, a gold painted cardboard crown upon his brow, a gun-like contraption of pipes, tubes, and plastic tanks pointed at them.  Throwing his head back, the figure crowed loudly, a dismissive, churlish laugh at the hero and villain before him.

"TREMBLE, TREMBLE AS YOU STAND IN THE PRESENCE OF ROYALTY, FOR YOU ARE NOW IN THE COMMANDING COMPANY OF THE ONE AND ONLY, CONDIMENT KING!  How diminished you must feel, knowing tha-"

"Is this..." Batgirl sniffed the liquid covering her suit, gingerly tasting a bit on the tip of her fingers, "Is this Tapatio?"

"A brilliant deduction, nothing less than I would expect from a disciple of the world's greatest detective.  Oh what a sight, the Dark Knight Damsel pitted again-"

"You blocked my lenses, douche!"  Killer Moth popped his helmet off and began wiping hot sauce from the eye holes, "And Tapatio sucks."

"Look buddy, I go through like 4 gallons of this stuff a week, sorry I shop at Costco.  Can I finish a sentence now?"  The Condiment King hoisted his sauce sprayer and cleared his throat.

"I learned metalworking just to make my helmet," Moth threw the hopelessly fouled up helmet to the ground, "the least you could do is make your own hot sauce.  Jalapeno peppers, salt, time, then blend it with vinegar, asshole."

Batgirl turned her head, "Wait, that's all that's in hot sauce?"

"That'll get you basically Tabasco," Moth shrugged at her, "I've got a batch with cayenne, garlic, and some pineapple fermenting in my kitchen right now, should turn out pretty good.

"Yo!  Sultan of Saucery, right here.  We gonna chat all night or what?"

With a groan Batgirl turned and faced him, "I'm sure you spent a lot of time rehearsing your speeches, King, but I'm a real superhero, doing real superhero stuff, with a real supervillain; so climb on down before I knock you down.  Sorry, but you just...can't cut the mustard."

The Condiment King glared and grimaced, and hoisted his weapon.  "I appreciate the pun," he spit through gritted teeth, "but who are you to judge?  You've got little pointy ears on your hat and a bat-logo on your chest.  Your boy over there is wearing a damn butterfly costume.  You and him and all the rest of the cape and cowl crowd thing you're so damn important, that you mean something with your garish clothes and self-righteous crusades.  You've got the public convinced too, that you're some kind of modern mythic heroes to emulate or raygun Jesus to worship, but you're not.  You're a bunch of egomaniacs playing with each other, pretending that your petty squabbles, your vigilantism, your crime sprees are somehow proof that you're better, that you're superior to the rest of us.  And that's why little ol' me chaps your ass so much.  There's no difference between you, me, and him when you get down to brass tacks.  You got the batarangs, I got the bechamel, but the game is the same no matter you try to pretend, Flying Rodent Woman.  So you know what I think?  I think you're just-"

With lightning speed, the Condiment King took aim at the pair beneath him and pulled the trigger, Batgirl attempting valiantly to match his speed with batarang only to come up short, the throwing weapon knocked out of her hand by the brown liquid hosing from the sauce sprayer as the force of the fluid laid her out on her back.  Shaking the wet hair out of her eyes, she scrambled to her feet only to see the Condiment King salute her from the edge of the building.

"FAREWELL, BATGIRL, FAREWELL, KILLER MOTH!  MAY YOU REMEMBER AND RUE THIS DAY AS THE TIME YOU FAILED AGAINST THE OUTCLASSING ONSLAUGHT OF THE ONE AND ONLY CONDIMENT KING!"

With a triumphant scream he grabbed the cable he had tied to the roof and ziplined down to the parking lot.  As Batgirl raced to the edge, her boots squishing all the way, she caught a glimpse of him fumbling with his keys before getting into a rather beat up car and driving away.  She stood there for a second and then raised her arms up to no one in particular before letting the fall to her sides.  As the wind died down she became aware of the pungent smell emanating off her soaked clothing and tried to breath through her mouth.

"I think you're just..." she pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, "...Bitters.  Well, smells like I figured out Green Arrow's secret chili ingredient at least."  She headed back over to where Killer Moth stood, hands on his knees and having a coughing fit.

"Are you okay?"  She leaned in and put her hand on his back as he heaved and retched.  "Do you need me to do anything?"

"My mouth was open," he managed to gasp, "swallowed a pint of Angostura."  He fell backwards flat onto his back and continued coughing, "Am I going to die?"