1978 :

As the DJ was struck down , he fell unto his pile of records, scattering them everywhere. The music stopped. Bewildered, the 25 Playboy Bunnies present stood still on the dancing floor, Hugh Hefner among them. The publishing genius was wearing a blue robe, blue satin pajama pants and a bright red ascot. Somebody put out the lights.

" Who in hell-- ? " began Hugh.

They heard gunfire, too much close for comfort. Shrieking, the lingerie-clad ladies dropped to the floor, seeking protection from their mentor. Hefner felt the tight young bodies dropping on him. In this case however, he didn’t feel the usual primal impulse, besides a growing fear : who had just invaded his own personal dancing floor, here in the basement of Playboy Mansion ? Could it be Bob Guccione ? Or that unsavory Flynt character ?

" Bwah ah ah ah ! ", someone laughed.

Over the DJ’s microphone, a metallic voice could be heard :

" As of this moment, you’re all prisoners of Mister Anti-Vitamin !

Hefner, you’re in my power ! Striking at the heart of America’s most notorious smut empire, I will put fear into the male population, age 15-49 ! My demands are quite simple : to rule this nation, to make Donna Summer my Queen, and... well, I’d like to take a dip in the big Playboy Pool ! "

" Who’s this nut ?, thought Hefner wishing for his pipe. What’s he doing here ? "

A dozens goons in flashy disco war-gear with guns began to surround the hostages. One of the girls, a tall raven-haired beauty, took one of her high-heeled pumps off. She had no intention of hitting anyone : just activate the signal carefuly obscured in the heel. That way, maybe HE could come to the rescue... and finally land a worthy job... the situation was THAT desperate ! Yeah, wishful thinking

Ben fell off the couch when he heard the signal. At first, he thought the police was coming into his appartement. Then, he realized that it was the Danger Alert.

"Varla is in trouble! Gosh! I hope it’s not one of those photographers..."

He rushed to the closet to get into costume, hoping that the tracking device would be useful. He put on the purple body suit and thighs, the black gloves, black boots, black mask and black cape.

"Varla, I’m coming! I... I just hope that there are still buses at this hour of the night!"

Blundering Mask stormed out of the appartement... and returned 5 minutes later, having forgotten to lock the front door. Already panting, he resumed his path, disbelieving that he had to crash a Playboy Disco Party to rescue his loved one, but still excited : this could very be his first official case.