"Alright, listen up," Heximal told Abigail promptly, after she had been seated at one of the charity drive tables. A large blueprint was laid out before her, detailing the layout of the Hippodrome. It was quite an elaborate set up, with many twisting under-passages and scaffoldings. "You enter through here," he said, prodding his finger at an employee back-door on the east side of the building. "We set you up with a tag. Your name is Betta Freeman, and you work as a loader on Dock Eleven and Dock Twelve. You're taking in inventory, as per the schedule, and as the new replacement, you have an alibi of getting lost down there in case you get caught wandering where you ought not to. Now, according to our mole at Dock Fourteen, the Myazakis are holed up in one of the abandoned sections beneath A-Wing. Used to have all sorts of costume rooms and prop storage down there. They don't use them anymore because of an asbestos danger. At least, that's the way it is on paper. Truth is, the Myazakis bought the section up as a safe hideaway. It's got tunnel connections to the sewers for quick getaways. You'll enter through Dock Twelve and meet the contact, he'll give you a walkthrough on the rest of the mission. You get in there, you off the eggrolls, and you get out. Make it clean, make it quiet. There's a show going on tonight, and we don't need gunshots drawing in the wrong kinds of attention."

"Wrong kinds of attention? Aren't half the police on Sionis's payroll?" Abigail questioned him, her eyebrow cocked in skepticism. She rattled her fingers impatiently against the table. "Or are you expecting bat wings and bird caws?"

"You bet your skinny ass we are," Heximal replied darkly. "You start a big firefight over at the Hippodrome, do some property damage, the Bat will show up. He'll kick your ass, send you off to some place nice and cold, and then Sionis will have your head along with the Myazaki's. And even if you escape, you cause a scene and you can consider your business with Sionis dead. Maybe yourself either way. This has to be quiet. Personally, I think Sionis is being too damn soft on you, putting an inside man at the dock to help you do this. But he likes his girls more than he does his trusted officials. Either that, or he don't have much confidence in your abilities. Either way, he's taken an interest in you and he's giving you a chance, so don't fuck it up."

"Alright, I want a silencer, then. A silence pistol. And tear-gas. He has links to the police, he can get some…"

"No. He's authorized a silencer and a few other treats from Storehouse Five. The rest of this is up to you."

"Oh, really? Can I see him right quick, then?" She fingered the bottle of pheromones at her side. Heximal, frowning deeper, shook his head, his eyes narrowed. "Oh, no. That's right. The boss is too delicate for little old Heximal to let me in."

"The boss," hissed Heximal, "is busy. He's got his lady in there and they aren't to be disturbed unless it's an emergency. And this aint an emergency. Look…" He grabbed her by the shirt collar and yanked her forward, much to her joy. "I know you did something to him," he whispered, his lips so close to her ear. "I know you did something to the boss. I don't know what, but he's never been that susceptible. He won't tell me what kind of arrangement you made with him, but I've lawyers crack under pressure by old Sionis. Trained liars, you know. Whatever it is that you did or said to him, it aint right, and it aint natural. So you're not getting near him again until you have those Asians on a platter. You understand?"

"Yes, boss, I understand," Abigail whispered back, her teeth clenched as she studied the map carefully. "But ask yourself this: Where will you be when I return with those heads? Where will you be when I prove myself to him? Times change. So do positions of power. Do you hear the winds of change coming? Can you hear them knocking on the door, Heximal? They're coming for you." She jerked herself back, out of his grip, and lounged herself, smiling softly at his stony expression. "I have power over the winds of fate, Heximal. I think Sionis can see that, don't you? And when he sees it… he will make me the goddess over this institution. Whatever lady he has in there right now, she'll be forgotten in my presence. Before the end, Heximal…you will worship me as Mother Nature."

"The fuck you on about?" Heximal snapped, pulling out his pistol. He waved it in front of her face. "News flash, kiddo: I am the fucking secondary to the Sionis movement. The fucking False Face Society can't stand on its damn toes without me being here to back up fuck-ups like you. That's right. You're a fuck up, and you haven't even made a move yet. I can see it. I can smell it. You're a slab of meat craving the extra mile, the extra chance to make a name for yourself in this godforsaken city, and you know what? You'll end up like all the other scumbags who tried to make themselves a name and ended up at the bottom of the river. Gotham's seen a lot of psychos and its seen a lot of kids, playing with toys and acting like they're grown up. But you know what? Just because you pick up a silencer," he hissed, holding up the one he had been assigned to give to her, "doesn't mean you know how to use it. Doesn't make you anyone in the eyes of Sionis. What makes you someone…is your ability to turn it into the future."

"Turn it into the future?" Abigail repeated. "You mean, make good on words?"

"Words are empty until you turn them into something. Are you?"

"Well, if I get killed in the raid, you've nothing to lose. And if I succeed, you've everything to lose. Can you accept that?"

"I say if you're going to change things, you'll hold up to your word. And when you do, I'll graciously accept it. But I'm a judge here. I need evidence before I can confirm a verdict. So are you ready?" He flipped the gun upward and caught it by the grip, offering it to her. She took it from him without hesitation. "Are you set to change my opinion of you?"

"Yes."

"And will you serve Sionis and the False Face Society effectively and without falter?"

"Yes, I shall. And I intend to return and make good on the delivery."

"Alright, then. Let's move."

"You think she can do it?" asked the young woman who sat on the armchair before Roman Sionis's desk. She kept throwing a rubber ball back and forth between her hands, intent on not stopping her built up momentum. Sionis was re-watching the video feed of her move on his doormen. The influence she had over them, that Abigail, was inhuman. He knew that she had some kind of power of himself. His senses returned fully, he was still getting over Abigail's influence. Sionis turned to look around at his mistress. Blonde, blue eyed and extremely slender, the young woman was dressed in black, tight leggings and a crimson crop top, centralized with a black diamond insignia. "You think she's capable of doing this by herself?"

"She'd better," said Sionis, turning his attention back to the video feed. It had been a near day since Abigail's arrival. He had let her bathe herself and set up lodgings in the back, and he absentmindedly flipped to a recording of her in the bathtub. She was so beautiful. He could not get her face out of his mind… it was like she still had some malevolent, unseen, haunting presence that refused to let up. Whatever power she had, it was the same as the original Poison Ivy's. Phermones… she had used pheromones… "If she doesn't, she'll die, either by my hand or the Myazakis. I'd prefer for her to succeed… I want to see her again." He squeezed the chair arms as he watched her soak herself with large lather-bits of soap, scrubbing her long, slender legs slowly… as if she knew she were being watched and wanted to make a show of it. Her eyes even passed slowly over where the camera was set up… but she could not have known it was there. Just a coincidence, it had to be. "She's good…at things."

"You mean whoopee!" exclaimed the blonde woman, tossing the ball aside and leaning forward, her lips puckering in a pitiful expression. "Oh, Mr. S… you don't like me anymore?" she cooed.

"Yeah, you're good enough," Sionis said in a bored tone, not taking his eyes off of Ivy. He had started, in the back of his mind, to already call her Ivy… even though the original Ivy was still alive and kicking. "But times change, Quinn. Times change. Too many sirens coming my way, you know. A man has a widespread appetite that changes with the season."

"You were always so exciting when it came to the seasons," cooed Quinn, blinking rapidly. "Come on, Roman baby…for old times' sake…" She spread out her arms and made kissing noises. Sionis held up his hand, demanding silence. She sighed, annoyed, and folded her arms in a silent tantrum.

"I didn't ask you here tonight, at such late notice, no less, because I wanted whoopee from you. I asked you here because I want to know what you think of her. The new girl."

"She's deadly," Quinn said at once. "She's good, too. I saw her walking out as I got here. Those doormen she attacked last night… they were ogling at her again, as if they completely forgot she poisoned their asses. She's got some attraction where there aint none needed, bossy. But I bet you called me in for more than just an evaluation: you want me to take her in."

"Oh?" Now Sionis turned to face her. He did not notice Abigail on the recording blowing a kiss at the camera. "That a fact?"

"You want her in the Poisoners Guild, don't you?"

Sionis looked pleased, nodding slowly with a dark smile. "I have a feeling you can make her feel right at home with you and Lissa."

"You think she's got what it takes?" Quinn looked skeptical.

"I know she's got what it takes. You saw her. And check this out." He pushed the morning paper forward, to let her see the headline: HORROR IN GOTHAM: VICTIMS FOUND MUTILATED. He waited patiently for her to scan the article, and enjoyed himself as her eyes widened here and there, darkly so. When she finished reading the article, she pushed it back to him and whistled loudly.

"She's got talent," Quinn admitted.

"Several countless murders that match this one have occurred in Bludhaven as well," said Sionis. "I know it's her. She's the serial killer they've been calling Arsenic. She's got quite a blood record on her hands. Been at this for almost a year. And now she's come to Gotham, requesting my help in freeing Pamela Isley from Arkham. She's…talented, yes, but she's also smart. She's very smart. Autopsy reports indicate that the poison found in the bodies of the Bludhaven victims… at least three of them had traces of a special hemotoxin that, according to police reports, matched the traces found in the bodies of almost every single one of Poison Ivy's original victims. It's the same damn poison. You know what that means? Poison Ivy here… this Abigail Johnson… she must have been the ones who dug up those corpses? You remember that?"

"You mean the bodies of Ivy's victims? The ones found dug up in Gotham Memorial?"

"Yes, the same. Sounds to me like she actually extracted the damn poison from those bodies. She's good. She's smart. She can make it work. That's why I think she'd be a good candidate for the Guild. You and Lissa can show her the works, get her involved in your projects and give her a proper home. Aint no way in Hell she's gonna find a good home here at the food bank. But in the Guild, her talents can be amplified and they can be put to better use."

"And you intend to free Ivy from Arkham, when and if she succeeds in this Myazaki case?"

"I'm a man of my word. She wins this round and brings me those heads and that ten grand, I'll give her Ivy. But I want her deep in the organization, Harleen. I want you to mentor her. Take her under your wing, get her into the Guild, and take her on a few missions. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can do it, you know me, bossy," Harleen Quinn whispered, drumming her fingers lightly on the desk before she began to stroke his hand lovingly under hers. "Of course, I wouldn't mind asking my own favors, now, in exchange for doing this…"

"I understand and yes, I'm prepared to do what's needed. I'll give you the usual and a bottle of Temptations Aisle." He reached down beneath his desk and plopped the amber liquid down on the table before her. Her eyes went wide with utter delight, and Quinn unleashed an earsplitting shriek of glee.

"Oh, Mr. S!" She launched herself forward, snaking across the empty part of the desk and rolling forward into a crouch at his side, promptly throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek with most intense meaning. "You make a girl feel good, you do," she whispered into his ear. "You know what she wants to hear."

"Yeah, I do." He gave her a firm shove, and she took the hint to back away, snatching up the $5000 bottle of wine as she did. "Now, you take a sip and then I expect you to take her in, if she comes back."

"But…she hasn't come back, has she? Not yet? She's just left? Why give this to me now?" Quinn shook the bottle hard. Sionis smiled lightly.

"Consider it my faith in her success."

"Do you want me to go with her?" Quinn's voice suddenly turned dark and serious. "I can follow behind, you know. Maybe make things easier for her…"

"I want you to observe her, Harls. I want you to observe her and tell me what you see when you see it. Be an audience member, not a stagehand. You understand?"

"You've got it, boss," Quinn cooed. She flicked her wrist, and from a shirt there suddenly protruded a six inch blade of titanium steel. She began to unstopper the bottle.

"Not yet. That's strong Dubian. You need your head clear for this one." He picked up a phone at his side and dialed 3 one time. As Quinn reluctantly lowered the bottle, Sionis heard Heximal's voice on the other end.

"Yes, Mr. Sionis?"

"Heximal, keep the plant inside of its pot until I give the word. I'm sending in a watcher. I'll give you a call when she's allowed to enter."

"How much time?"

"Twenty minutes." Sionis hung up, and looked at Quinn with a firm expression. "Give her your time and attention, and don't screw this up. Get going."

"I can't have any fun at all with the Asians, can I?" Quinn's lip trembled in mock sadness. Sionis shook his head.

"No, you can't. I want to see what she's made of."

"Fine," Quin sighed, rushing forward, grabbing the chair by the arms and leaping cleanly over it, her legs spread wide in a most unnaturally flexible way. "I'm taking the bottle with me!"

"Don't drink it yet!" Sionis exclaimed after her as she vanished into the hall. "It's strong stuff!"

The door shut behind her, and Quinn was already well on her way. The young woman rushed forward with all intense haste and energy, leaping over the heads of two of Sionis's doormen, who stared in disbelief at the woman's stamina. Quinn did not stop running until she had reached her Ferrari, which was already waiting for her, toasty and gassed for extreme outing. Leaping into the driver's seat, she put the car into drive and sped off, tearing down the street with a high-pitched shriek of tires, positively burning into the gravel of the road as if she herself were an earthquake. She ran down everyone who happened to be in the road at the time, not stopping or turning for anyone as she bolted down the highway, the wind whipping at her face, which held an expression of utmost joy.

"Wheeeeeeeeee!" she shrieked through the whipping waves of wind, as a homeless man disappeared beneath her tires. People were screaming, the lucky ones tossing themselves out of the way in time. Predictably, it did not take long at all for the sirens to off, and for those flashing red and blue lights to appear from behind. The cop car was slow to keep up with the pace of her car, and admittedly, she would lose him soon enough, if she had desired to keep driving. But Quinn detested the police as much as anyone else did in this part of town, and thus, she pulled the Ferrari to a jerking stop at the side of the road, bringing the car to a halt in front of a 24/7 bakery. The smell of fresh donuts satisfied her well enough, and she pleasured her senses to the delicacies within as the shaking, wide-eyed man of forty stepped out of the cop car, his gun aimed at the back of her head as he moved forward slowly.

"Ma'am, do you know how fast you were going!?" he demanded, his gun shaking as hard as he was. Quinn looked around, grinning, brushing her hair out of her face.

"130 miles per hour, officer!" she replied at once, pointing excitedly at the speedometer. He came up beside her and held out his hand.

"License, now. Registration, now!"

"Okay, okay, geez," Quinn hissed impatiently, reaching into a purse in the shotgun seat.

"This is beyond a ticket, missy. Jailtime, that's what this is," the cop told her, his face crimson and stony.

"Alright, alright, here," she said, holding out the identification card on one end, her finger lightly resting over the picture of herself. The cop reached to take it, placing his hand on the other end. As soon as he did, Quinn calmly pressed down on her photograph. The cop jerked, gasping as he pulled his finger back, but the needle was already sliding back into the card. Quinn blew him a kiss, and promptly sped away, leaving the cop standing there, stone still. He stared outward, blankly, his jaw jittering, his body limp as the toxin passed through his system.

And then, he began to laugh. He began to laugh so hard, so desperately hard, as if laughing were getting him fortunes by the second based on intensity. His eyes bulged, as did his veins, which were blackening. His mouth stretched out in an inhumane way, his teeth barred in a mad, mad grin. The police officer kept laughing and laughing, even when patrons of the bakery ran out to check on him. He kept laughing, unmoving from that spot, until at last the toxin claimed his life, and he fell dead onto the sidewalk, that unnatural, deathly, mad grin still etched upon his features…