"Rise and shine, rise and shine!" cried Wemore Perce, rattling the bars on the door very loudly with his nightstick. The creature in the dark of the early morning cell stirred feebly upon the bed, and gave him no sign of attention. Perce, ever the young asshole with a log stuck up his nose, sighed angrily, and practically slammed the stick against the door, as if auditioning for the most intense drummer ever. His mouth remained firm and puckered, but his eyes were wide and crazed. In his mind, he sang a song: Cry baby, cry, poke you in the eye, sever your spine, make you mine…
The creature on the distant bed within stirred again, and finally, with a low moan of anger, rolled over and onto the floor, landing in her rehearsed crouch for day to day setoffs.
"About time," muttered Perce. "Alright, move it. We have a big schedule today. Mark and Evan get to go first, and then me. After me, Dirk and Yorinda both get five minutes apiece, since they're on watch-tower duty today. We have to get through all that before breakfast. Hurry up and wash your damn face."
He watched patiently as the creature in the dark sauntered into its routine, shuffling only slightly as it crouched over the sink and began to run the cold water. The creature was shivering hard. The inside of the cell was so icy cold. And it smelled terrible in there, musty and vulgar to the senses. Perce hated being the one who always went to fetch her. Why could Dirk not come in for a change and handle that awful smell? Simply out, Perce knew it was because Dirk was afraid of the woman. Even though he always joined everyone else in the fun, he was still afraid of the woman in lonesome company. After what had happened to Ridges… after what had happened to Maxwell… But that had been no one's fault. Who could have ever suspected that there were more poisonous traps than just the lips?
The creature finished washing its face, and slowly walked over to the light pouring in from the door window. Perce braced himself, gripping the stick tightly, and he stepped back by about an inch. There still was not enough room for her to reach through… but he was going to take no chances.
"Are you ready for some fun?" he asked her, sweating only a little. He had to maintain composure…or he would end up compost.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Pamela Isley yawned quietly, pressing her face against the bars and staring at him widely…blankly… Perce winced as he did every time he looked at her face. The heavily sunken in eyelids and the bruises decorating her cheeks and forehead… stains of green where she had cried for hours and hours on end, old blood flecks that had still not completely left her… Her crimson hair was a mess, dry, dead leaves decorating the strands and dirt staining the mass, while large chunks near the back had been ripped away long ago… She was hideous. So very hideous, like a witch from the swamp.
One year ago, Pamela Isley had terrorized Gotham. She had taken so many lives, caused so much untold destruction… These days, she was an exhibit, a toy to be used at the player's leisure, an animal kept in the dark and cold, to be taken out for the pleasures of those who sought to rid themselves of petty morality for sessions at a time…
Perce held the stick in front of her face. She winced now herself. She and this stick had been through a lot together in one year. It was Perce's favorite thing to beat her with… and Perce's favorite thing to do was to beat her. Sometimes they came unexpectedly in the middle of the night. She would be awoken to the strong redwood cracking against her back or feet. Sometimes Perce lost control, and sometimes he did not: he just acted like he lost control. To him, life was her un-life, and it was go slowly. So slowly, until the day he finally ended her life and tossed her corpse into the river so very far below. And every time he came for her, he would always say the same words: "Sam sends his regards." Sam Perce had been a victim of Ivy's during her first crusade. The man had been one in so many nameless rabble taken during her early days in Gotham, during the first executions of the movement. The authorities had found his corpse and so many others in a grotto of Gotham Central Park, and young Wemore Perce had dedicated his existence to Ivy's endless suffering.
When Perce had come to work at Arkham, his first influential decision had been to remove Victor Fries, Isley's cellmate, to a different section of the institution, ending the snowman's influence over the woman's agony. Ivy had seen this as salvation, for the things that Fries had done to her… they were the stuff of nightmares. Indeed Perce had removed the regulator that Fries had attached to her back, sending out false signals that tricked Ivy's brain into feeling bitter cold and thus disabling the warmth relays of the nerves, but this had only been because Perce had felt that her agony must come from him, and him alone.
"Sam sends his regards," Perce said this morning. "As do we all."
Ivy leaned in, her lips slightly passing the tight bars of the door, and she whispered, "Your time is coming."
Perce reacted at once, slamming the nightstick hard against the bars. Ivy fell backwards with a scream, her lip busted open by the sudden strike. Perce yanked the door open after a slight turn of the key and took out his cuffs, forcibly turning her onto her belly, and he promptly began to cuff her. She struggled against him, sobbing now, but he held her firmly, twisting the stick around to a softer side and proceeding to blunt the back of her head with it. She fell face-down into the stone floor, sobbing uncontrollably against it, and Perce whistled loudly.
From down the hall, a host of men came forward, led by a single woman. All were dressed in their uniforms, and all wore stony, cold expressions. The woman, beautiful and young, carried a blunt wooden stake in one hand, and a syringe in the other. The syringe was empty.
The multitude surrounded Perce and Ivy, and one of the men in the back shut the door quickly. Another found the lights, blasting intense illumination into the cell, golden-red that took away none of the freezing air. Perce cuffed Ivy's ankles, and the woman bent down, a black gag in hand. She jerked Ivy up by the hair and tied the gag around her mouth. It was well-made with strong leather and tight straps. Ivy was screaming through it, but they simply ignored her, as this was a simple element to exist within. The power that one had over another was an exhilarating contemplation for the dark-minded who gave into the unnatural cravings.
"There we go now," Mark Klein whispered, falling down beside Ivy and wriggling his fingers over her chest. She stared up at him with green eyes filled with such hate….such desire to kill!
"Hurry up, Perce. You and Evan get her first. I'll go afterwards. We can't take too long. Yorinda and Dirk have guard-tower duty. Make it fast."
"Oh, I have all the time in the world," Yorinda assured Perce, kissing the syringe she held in her hand lovingly. Perce grinned, loving the needle as much as Yorinda did. He loved both the pain and humiliation it would inflict upon Pamela Isley. Yorinda took samples of her blood and drained the hemotoxin from the woman's lips, and the wonderful boys over at Dagger Incoporated studied the samples and used them in their classified playtimes. Perce and Yorinda both were paid well for these supplies of samples. What Dagger was doing with them, Perce neither cared nor wanted to know. It was of no concern to him.
Mark began to unzip his pants, and Perce said, "You did remember to bring appropriate cautionaries, yes?"
Mark pulled down his pants and frowned. "Of course I did. After what happened to Maxwell? I brought the item. Dirk, can I borrow it?"
Dirk nodded, grunting as he handed over the cautionary: it looked like a saddle, reinforced with leather like Ivy's gag, but with a clear, strong and flexible tubing for the insertion of the penis. A convoluted condom, but they were not taking chances with her. Walter Ridges had snuck into Ivy's cell one night, planning to catch her by surprise as she slept. His gag had worked fine… but the man had worn no protection. Perce had discovered the man's corpse in bed with Ivy the next morning. He'd been poisoned through her birth canal, and apparently, she had tucked him into bed like a lover after that, sleeping peacefully with the dead man. A month later, Charlie Maxwell, an initiate and rookie to watch-duty, had attempted the same thing. After these two incidents, Perce had ensured that their annual rape-fests would go with maximum security. No one was allowed to touch Ivy without protection of the genitals and lips. This woman could poison them from the most unlikely of places, and Perce had to regulate their dark deeds carefully. To his knowledge, her skin did not seem to be toxic, but inside, beneath the skin…
Mark saddled himself in, and promptly began his deed, placing headphones over his ears and hitting play on his portable CD-player to drown out Ivy's muffled screams. Dirk and Perce watched the scene with intense excitement. Yorinda, bored but patient, played a game on her phone as she awaited the men to finish with their turns. Evan sat against the wall, his head bent low as he muttered a prayer to some god who must surely condone the evil that was about to be done, or at least, Perce was sure that that was what was happening. He spoke in some foreign tongue and spoke reverently, and seemed to be sweating as he did. Those words said things that Perce must never understand. He was too far gone to grasp the possibility that Evan was praying forgiveness before his sin would occur. Men fall. Worlds die. This was the truth of the matter: humanity given its most intense study.
Ivy had gone quiet a few minutes into Mark's violation. She had become still, her eyes going out of focus. The anesthetic in the gag was settling in now. Yorinda looked pleased. Mark was huffing and puffing, his hands around Ivy's throat.
"Don't kill her now," Perce said absentmindedly. "Keep her alive."
"Don't worry about me, captain," Mark panted. "Worry about yourselves."
Perce cracked his knuckles loudly. He stepped forward and planted a fierce kick into Mark's back. The man went flying forward, his face planting against Ivy's mouthpiece. He rolled away in terror, Ivy's eyes narrowing only slightly through her hazy disposition of the reality around her. Perce knew that she was grinning behind that mask. Even though she could not possibly hurt them, she still enacted fear upon these men. Perce clenched his fist.
"What the hell man!?" Mark cried, jumping to his feet and coming forward to confront Perce. "What in the blazing-"
Perce struck out before Mark could finish speaking, his fist slamming into the man's jaw. Mark crumpled down onto the floor, and Perce promptly began to beat him with the nightstick, striking at pivotal nerves in the knees and crotch. Mark tried to scream, but Dirk ran forward and muffled the man with his hand, nodding at Perce, egging him to keep on going.
Perce struck Mark several more times, and when the man lay bleeding, bruised and half-conscious upon the floor, Perce grabbed him by the throat and fixed eye to eye contact. "Now," he whispered, "let's try this again. A-fucking-gain. What-are-you-to-do-when-I-give-you-a-command?"
"I-I… eh…ugh…" Mark spat out a mouthful of blood and looked through bruised eyes up at Perce. Perce, who was stronger and taller than him. Perce, who was nephew to the crime-boss who ran Arkham, whose connections were beyond Mark's comprehension… who could get away with murder if he wanted… "Ah-ree…"
"What!?"
"S-sorry…P—erccce… didn't mean…sorry… obey…I obey you…"
"That's right, chicken shit," Perce hissed into his ear. "You obey. Now, do you feel like you've learned your lesson? Do you feel like you've learned not something about your loyalties today?"
Yorinda bent down beside Perce. "Perce, we've got to keep going. Time's ticking."
Perce ignored her, and pulled Mark over to Ivy, dragging him across her and forcing his head down, to where he stared into her eyes. Perce put a threatening hand over Ivy's mouthpiece.
"Now, Mark… do you want me to take this mask off, and let this animal kill you? I will, and she damn well will too. I'll force your lips against hers! I'll let this animal poison you, Mark, I'll let her sap the fucking life right out of you! And I won't lost sleep over any of it. She's my creature, to do what I say. You want me to remove this mask, let her kiss you?"
"No…" Mark sobbed, his tears falling onto Ivy's cheeks. "No… please, God, don't do it…"
Perce jerked him back, throwing him across the room, where he rolled to a stop at Dirk's feet. Dirk looked excited.
"Alright, then, Mark. Get out of here, then. Go down to laundry and wash my shirts for tomorrow. I want all three of them waiting in my office by noon."
Mark desperately tried to climb to his feet, but he could not muster the strength to do so, and fell with a pained yell into a crumpled heap. Perce turned, the nightstick ready in hand again. Evan jumped up from his seat of prayer and promptly picked Mark up, supporting the man with his arm. "I take him," he whispered through his spicy Arabic accent. "I take him and mend wounds. I help Mark with laundry." He began to walk Mark over to the door. Perce stomped his foot down harshly.
"Let him walk himself!" Perce roared. Evan shook his head, pulling Mark into the corridor.
"I no rape woman today," Evan said. "I no take her and do things. I help Mark." He said this so defiantly, and Perce turned a crimson not unlike Ivy's hair. He watched in fury as Mark and Evan vanished behind the door.
"Fucking little rag-head," Perce snapped, turning his attention back to Ivy. He promptly began to remove his own pants, pulling out a small box of Trojans from his pocket. "Why the hell did we even drag him into this? He can't even speak damn English." He began to fit himself into the Trojan. "I hate it. I really hate it. You and me, Yorinda, we're the only respectable assholes in this entire institution."
"Hey…what about me?" Dirk asked, looking affronted. Perce gave Dirk a disgusted look.
"Sure, Dirk… dogs, after all, are just as important to a family institution." He fell down upon Ivy and began his sin. Yorinda and Dirk watched in silence as Perce began Ivy's latest nightmares. The testament to the deed would be a horrendous endeavor. Oh how she screamed, and oh how she bled. His mad smile never left his lips, Perce… even when the knife flashed in his hand and he began to make carvings on her arms, noticeable, irregularly shaped cuts that made could almost be mistaken for finger scratches. Self-inflicted. He was an artist with a knife, and he knew how to fake the cuts. Ivy was a wretched, lost soul. Self-infliction was one of her knowns. He used that to his advantage when he tortured her.
"How does it feel?" he whispered into her ear. "How does the pain feel? Does this agony befit you? I hope it does. I hope it really does…"
"We have to hurry!" Yorinda snapped impatiently.
"Take your samples now," Perce panted, brushing sweat from his brow. "Dirk… get your ass over here and play."
"I…I should wait…" Dirk looked uncomfortable. "These things….sort of need to be done on a one-on-one basis, you know…"
"Shut up and get over here!" Perce snapped, drawing his pistol from his side and aiming at Dirk's chest. Dirk leapt backwards, throwing his hands in there, his eyes wide.
"Alright, alright, you crazy fuck! I'm coming…"
Yorinda laughed quietly to herself, smirking. Perce sure had a way of doing things. She and Dirk took to either side of Ivy. She began to search for the usual vein, studying the faint green veins within with delicate care. Dirk, meanwhile, threw a blindfold around Ivy's face, blackening her vision, and then he took out a pocket blade. Dirk began to severe the buttons from her shirt, slicing the fabric open with shaking, excited hands, his mouth salivating. The faint traces of something so sweet and empowering met their nostrils. There was some invisible, beautiful scent that made their minds fog over. The air was of love and joy and their blood burned with intense warmness. Behind the blindfold, Poison Ivy was focusing as much energy as she could on expelling the pheromones that her body naturally produced, seeking a way, any way, to overtake Perce and convince him to remove the mouthguard… but distractions kept coming in the form of the cuts that he made into her skin. Those savage cuts were like fire.
Yorinda had found the vein, and was now drawing Ivy's aloe-based blood, filling the container to the brim. After she was finished, she placed the syringe securely in a bio-hazard bag, and took the blunted stake in hand.
"And now for Mr. Falcone's wishes," she whispered to Ivy, flattening her victim's hand upon the floor. She then raised the blunted stake in the air, winked at Ivy, and smashed the blunt side down onto Ivy's palm. Ivy's scream was terrible, breaking through the anesthetic, her eyes flooding with tears and green blood, a foul smelling mixture indeed. Yorinda smashed down the stake five more times, Ivy's hands bruising more and more with each blow, and then at last she rose, sweeping up the bag in hand and brushing Perce's head with her hand. "I'll be off now, Wemore. You still coming to the party tonight?"
"Yeah, I'll be there," Perce panted through gritted teeth. "Tell that bastard Falcone I want a rematch at cards."
"Should I tell him those exact words?"
"Leave the "bastard" part out."
"I'll do that. Have fun…"
Dirk raised his head from his own sin, grinning a yellow-toothed smile at Yorinda. "Have a nice day, Yorinda."
Yorinda gave him a blank stare, nodded curtly once, and left the room without a word. Perce stopped his thrusting and looked up at Dirk, frowning considerably. "Get out."
Dirk was affronted. "Why!? I just started!"
Perce aimed the gun at him again. "Out!" he roared, firing off a shot. He had aimed for the wall behind Dirk, the bullet passing so closely and yet hitting exactly where Perce was aiming. Dirk let out a frantic, "Fuck!" and proceeded to run for it, not looking back at the madman who had nearly destroyed him out of some misguided, unforeseen madness. Perce chuckled softly to himself, lying forward over Ivy and stroking her hair in his hand. He smelled the strands and grazed them against his lips.
"I like it better this way. Just you…and me… don't we have so much fun?" He looked down at the Trojan, and grinned. As he had predicted, the thing was stained with flecks of faint green. "Stop trying to kill me, Pam. You're not going to succeed. I've won this round, as I've won every round, as I'll always win every round that you offer to me." He jabbed the knife at her cheek, cutting her, and she winced in pain, moaning loudly in agony. "You're just a freak. An animal, Isley. You should have killed Batman and Robin and Batbroad when you had the chance. You could have turned us all into icicles and compost. You failed. You're getting no more chances. No more chances. My brother Sam is laughing at your pain right now. He's enjoying it. I know. He tells me, every night. Me and him…we talk to each other, Pam. We talk and talk, sometimes until the sun comes up. I… I love my brother, Isley… love my brother…" He cut her other cheek. "You…you'll die in here. I'm the one who's going to kill you. I promise. It won't be long. I'm going to drive all eight inches of this steel right into your fucking skull. I already know who the murderer will be. Timothy, down in Accounting. You murdered his brother too, so I'm gonna use him. I'm gonna frame him. I'll throw your body in the river. Maybe the poisons in you will pollute it and kill all the fucking fish. You'd like that, right? To murder even in death? Well… maybe you'll get your wish."
He pulled out of her and began to carefully remove the Trojan, ensuring not to touch the poison that saturated it. He disposed of them in the toilet, dressing himself once more, and then he returned to Ivy. Hoisting her into his arms, he tossed her upon the bed and began to savagely remove her bindings, taking the mouthguard off last. When he removed this piece, he made a run for the door, as predictably, with an animalistic, monstrous scream, Pamela Isley ran at him, leaping off the bed like a wild animal. Perce was already behind the slammed door by the time she reached it, her fists banging against the bars like a rabid gorilla.
"I'll kill you!" she screamed as the toxins in her body finished burning up the last of the anesthetic. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"
Perce walked away slowly, breathing in satisfaction, and he began to whistle, twirling his nightstick round and round. Ivy watched him walk away and vanish around the corner. This was an isolated wing. She was contained to herself here, alone, behind reinforced doors where no one could hear her scream. And even if they could have heard her scream… no one would come. Half the staff at Arkham knew what Perce and his gang did to her. None of them cared. Most of them encouraged them. She had to kill them all. She had to murder every last bastard in Arkham, every patient, orderly and security guard. She had to bury this evil tomb within the gorge, had to destroy Arkham and rid herself of these flies. She had to be free! A year in this place had not killed her. It was because of this that she knew she must escape. Death had not come to relieve her of her torment, and she knew that no matter how much Perce threatened that "soon" he would kill her… he was lying. He enjoyed her too much, and she knew it. And as long as he was taking all of these precautions, she would never be able to take advantage of it.
She stared up at the window, so very high above, and watched as the moonlight began to fade into morning orange. A new day had come… and what would it bring her? She missed Victor Fries as her cellmate. When he had tormented her, he had relented beyond a certain limit of degradation. His machine had done most of not all the work for him. Perce, however, used her as a means of release, like an animal bred for such violations. Where was Fries now? Had he yet managed to produce the sacred cure to his wife's ailment? His miserable, frostbitten bride must be so happy, restored to life once more. Fries had to die. She would make sure that he was among the first of the new executions. She would murder him, and then make sure that Nora Fries bit the big one. She would tear into Nora's stomach and rip out the woman's frozen entrails. She would force-feed them to Dirk… he liked eating women parts, after all. And that wretched Dr. Yorinda… Falcone's worshipper. She had murdered one of his top men during her first crusade against Gotham, Ivy had, and Falcone made sure to pay Dr. Yorinda to exact pain against Ivy at every available chance. Ivy would make sure to tie Yorinda to a table-top. First she would slowly saw off the woman's breasts. Then she would stick the woman with syringes in her eyes and arms and nose and mouth and every other imaginable area. She would leave Yorinda lying there in true agony, locking the door and sealing the room forever. The raghead Evan, who prayed to his god Jujo-Cazen for forgiveness every time he came for her, and the rough-housing, brute Mark would be given the same treatment: she would plant seeds within their bodies, and watch in glorious triumph as vines burst through them, clogging their throats and dissolving their organs from within.
But Perce… Perce would be given the ultimate punishment. She had wondrous, wondrous, far more brutal plans for Perce… He was, after all, her lover.
Squeak! Ivy spun around on the spot, her teeth barred. A small mouse, yet another visitor to her dark cave, had violated her presence, slipping in through a hole in the wall. Ivy let out a terrible, animalistic scream and leapt at the creature, swiping it into the air before it knew what was coming. She shoved the creature into her mouth and bit down hard, tearing off its head with her teeth. Ivy tossed the decapitated rat across the room and spat out the head. Mammals! So many mammals! TOO MANY MAMMALS!
Cambier the demon screamed from within. Must escape this Hell! Must escape this Hell! Must escape this Hell!
Half an hour later, when the sun had risen some more and the cell began to fill with light, the loud buzzer sounded off from the nearby door, and Ivy made her way, dressed in the only other set of clothes she owned, into the hall. An escort of seven security guards, all equipped with gas masks, made way for her to enter the center of their escort. The captain of the escort cuffed her at once. When she found her place, the eight of them silently marched towards the elevator, Ivy's head bent low as she contemplated what she could do to escape this Hell…
Someone…anyone…someone has to slip up…someone I can seduce…
The elevator ride down was also silent. They arrived down in the main section of Extreme Isolation, and the escort began their journey across the widespread yard towards Recreation and Consumption. This morning the grass felt very dewy under her bare feet. The sun was there but the weather was frigid. Snow had already begun to fall lightly on this winter morning. In two hours, the guards would let her walk around the courtyard near Isolation, where she could frolic for an hour about the flowerbeds. It was the only peace she knew in this place.
This early in the morning, the cafeteria was almost completely empty. Only three occupants, including Ivy, were seated at the tables, awaiting their usual breakfast of bacon, eggs and biscuits. One was a jumpy, blonde haired young woman who kept whispering to herself urgently, sure that someone was going to hear her grand plan of growing five feet taller, enough to jump over the heads of the guards when they came for her. The other was a very quiet, glaring man, his auburn hair messy, his eyes cold. He kept shooting dark glances over at the blonde woman, a savage expression upon his face. Neither Ivy nor he, however, could make a move to murder her. The guards would shoot them with darts if they stood up at all. There were at least eight of them on duty, all armed with precision rifles.
The large cafeteria hosted seventeen long tables for its massive chamber. There were doors on all sides, and now, through one of them, came a stream of kitchen employees carrying silver platters, covered with round top. One platter was placed before each inmate. The smell of bacon was pleasurable to Ivy's senses. Mammals were dead on this plate. It soothed her mind in the tiniest way. But she could not forget what Perce had done to her… she could not forget what damage had been inflicted.
She savagely mouthed the food, her wild, bloodied hair swaying to and fro in quick, jerky movements as her mind focused on the same sentence, over and over: Kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him…
"Mr. Crane," one of the guards called out from behind her. "Don't even think about it."
Ivy looked over her shoulder. The auburn haired man looked as if he had been about to rise, his focus on the blonde haired whisperer.
"Will you silence it?" Crane whispered at the guard who had aimed his rifle, jerking a finger in the woman's direction.
"Shut up, eat your food," the man ordered the good doctor. Another guard moved towards the blonde woman, and bent down beside her, talking to her in a low voice, while three of his co-guards aimed their rifles at her back, in case she tried anything. Ivy inhaled deeply. This place needed vines hanging from the ceiling, and flowers growing through the windows. It needed these mammals strung up by the necks, and a great floral throne for her to sit upon. She let her imagination wander, all of these things coming to mind as she finished her breakfast in silence. Her eyes casually drifted to a gun at the side of the head guard who stood in front of her, some ways away by the window. She imagined flinging herself at him, forcing a kiss onto him, and grabbing the gun from his side as he fell down dead. She imagined herself then shooting everyone in the hall. One day…just one day, she would manage…
At the back of her mind, her black heart held a deep hope. The letter still remained tucked away in her cell, safely hidden beneath the mattress. That wondrous fan letter, upon which one darling young woman had written a deep affection for her. She remembered the day she had received the letter, and the utter joy of the realization that she had a worshipper who had vowed to continue pursuing the growth of Eden. If only she could meet this A.R. and speak with her. She wanted to know the deepest, most personal thoughts of this fan, beyond:
Dear Poison Ivy,
I hope this letter finds you well. I can't tell you how difficult it was, getting the proper names to ensure that this reaches you safely. I had to bribe the right guys, and bribery doesn't always involve money, if you know what I mean. It is my dear hope that this letter reaches you unopened, but in the case that someone does peek, I will already have left Gotham City, and begun the Movement.
I write to you now, Poison Ivy, to tell you this: I love you. I love you so very much. Quite psychologically speaking, I am obsessed with you. I've dyed my hair to match your red, it used to be blonde. I've also taken to wearing green contacts, as blue hardly seems fitting for your successor. Yes, that's right. I want you to know how much I admired your work. The day that truly got to me was when you displayed that so very beautiful video on GCN. The poisonings, the necrophilia, the ambitions, and the confidence… it's all so very arousing. I myself love nature, and I love chemistry. In fact, it's my major in college at the moment.
Used to, when we were kids, we were asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Well, I have my answer at last: I want to be you, Poison Ivy. I'll take on your name for myself, and I will continue your work. The work of Mother Nature should never end. I will poison men in your name, and I will do my best to revive your studies into botany. I will strive to be a true successor. I've already killed people. My college professor, along with a few boys at my school… and I even strung their bodies up, just like you did on TV! Isn't that cool!? It was scary at first, but then, it started to become REALLY fun, lol. 3
I like, totally am going to become Poison Ivy, and I'm going to go on a massive killing spree, just like you. I've already dealt with my parents, as well, as they won't be able to interfere. I truly love you, and I truly admire you, Ivy. I hope that in time, I can come to live up to your unholy name. They may have your physical body locked away in Arkham, but your spirit shall live on inside of me. I am going to make you proud. I promise. I promise I will make you proud. I do, I promise.
I promise.
This letter will be short, but know that I shall be writing again. And soon. I am your dearest fan, your most adamant worshipper. You spoke to me in such a beautiful way, Poison Ivy. You have served us well… now, let me serve you. I will write again, sometime in the next month. I'll send some enclosed pictures of my new costume, too, I'm modeling it after you. Just know that I am here to carry on your name and legacy forever. And if I am blessed with a daughter, then she too will carry on your legacy. One day, the mammals of this Earth will be cleansed… and your paradise, your Eden, will be realized.
I write this in love, my goddess,
A.R.
P.S. =)
Who were you, A.R., and were you really doing anything to ensure Eden's return?