Chapter Six

Wilds and Weeds

Harleen sought tonight's refuge within a sea of anonymity.

She'd chosen a dive bar hidden on a Gotham street corner some thirty minutes from the docks. The name was unimportant, forgotten in the adrenaline haze of her escape from the warehouse less than an hour prior and the subsequent need to hide from potential pursuers. This establishment was far enough away from the docks to be outside the range of any sweep the henchmen's cohorts made of the surrounding area. There was a sizeable enough crowd within the bar itself. Patrons gathered at the long counter and around two dingy billiard tables near the front windows. Harleen had taken purchase in a booth at the rear, her back to the wall as per her usual liking, with her customary Diet Coke and a Pellegrino resting on the table before her. None of the other patrons took notice of her, thankfully. A classic rock station blared through the speakers as the blonde settled in and began the task of sorting through her latest findings.

The phone was first on her list. She scrolled through it as she took infrequent sips of her drinks. It followed the standard rules of a typical prepaid burner possessed by a henchman in Gotham's underground. Maintained under the constant presumption it could fall into the hands of the GCPD or – God forbid – Batman at any time. Nothing personal was stored on the phone. The image gallery was bereft of photos aside from some downloaded memes that were incriminating only insofar as the viewer's personal comedic taste. All the apps came pre-installed, except for the VPN Harleen kept active just in case. She opened the contacts and discovered, to her surprise, the few available stored numbers were saved with assigned names hidden beneath a cipher. Harleen frowned at the blocks of seemingly random letters, knowing she'd need the correct key to decode their identities.

Leaving them for now, she turned her attention to the saved text messages. The goon appeared to wipe them on a regular basis, the last purge having taken place less than forty-eight hours ago. Only one string of texts survived, coming from someone bearing the encrypted name "YOAGBOGOVUV". The conversation was hardly worth visiting, a brief check-in about the night's patrol with promises to meet up for drinks later. Neither party specified where they'd be meeting, and Harleen doubted Mack would be in any position to consume alcohol considering the welt she'd left on his head.

She opened the internet browser next. No bookmarks were saved, and the history had recently been cleared. The only clue in the library was a link to an off-brand search engine. Harleen pulled up the site and tapped the search bar, smiling into her drink as a list of recent search queries appeared on cue. They ran the gamut on subject matter, first on the list was "best dog gifts" followed by "Dinah Lance performance photos" and "current metal scene news". She scrolled through a couple of innocuous searches before landing on "poison oak".

It clicked something in her brain, a deep-seated recognition, and Harleen selected the search option. She was met with a deluge of information, a brief blurb at the top of the page describing the plant and citing its detrimental properties. The first few sites were links to encyclopedia and botanical sites, followed soon by advertisements for popular treatments. Amazon was – of course – near the top of the list, and Harleen clicked on the link, leading to a listing for an over-the-counter cream for rashes. She moved to the login screen, clicking on the email field which gave her the option to auto-fill with an address using a pseudonym she assumed belonged to the goon himself. She still had to enter the password, and she clicked the "Forgot Password" button then entered the burner phone's number. An SMS message appeared on her screen with a code. She smiled to herself as she reset the password and opened his account page. The blonde quickly scrolled to his recent purchases. Sure enough, there were three different treatments for poison oak, all bought within the past week and shipped overnight.

Harleen reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew the proffered map. She unfolded it, spreading the paper across the table, staring once again at the hand drawn lines and sparse details. Something in her memory – a nascent, fleeting remembrance – stirred the longer she stared at the cryptic map. The henchman had been here, recently, in a place that couldn't be far away and where poison plants thrived. A location filled with greenery, perhaps overgrown, but studded with recognizable landmarks. Her blue eyes scouted the labels: "broken fountain", "bench", and there, near the beginning of the trail, "front gate".

The blonde gazed at the map intently, chasing her ill-begotten recollection. She'd… seen this place before. Or something fitting its description. This wasn't a wood or a field, this map covered a man-made locale. Large and overgrown, and filled with poison. But what–

And then it hit her; the memory flooding back, sharp as the day she'd lived it.

IXI

- Six Years Prior -

Harley Quinn stood outside the entrance gate to Robinson Park, taking purchase a safe few yards away as she stared up at the surprisingly imposing construct of brick and metal. The once gleaming black bars had begun to rust and flake with age and exposure to the elements, the bricks worn down and covered in creeping vines. The gate was the only immediately available way into the park, its perimeter marked by a high, barred fence running along the entire border. Foliage encroached upon the fence, overgrown and menacing in a strange way Harley had never seen before. As she stared at the plants they seemed to gaze right back at her, poised and ready to strike should she cross the boundary and enter their domain. It was ridiculous, to feel threatened by trees for Christ's sake, but Harley kept her distance, not wanting to incite their ire or bad pollen juju or whatever.

She was quite new to this game, after all. Having freshly awakened to her true, dormant personality. You know, the fun one. There were many important (and deadly) lessons she was learning about Gotham these days. An entire society separate from the average citizen lay within the seedy underbelly of its criminal world. One rife with secrets a civilian would not be privy to, even if they'd spent their entire lives as a resident of Gotham. And while Harley had known of some famous crime lords as a kid, the kind urban legends are made of, her time attending an out of state college had severely hindered her knowledge of the local scene. Yes, she'd gotten glimpses of this separate Gotham society during her stint at Arkham, but her entire focus had been pinned on the only inmate worthy of attention. Now – after throwing off the bonds of Harleen and undergoing a love-fueled metamorphosis – Harley Quinn was privileged enough to bear witness to the underworld in all its ass-kicking glory. Every day the curtain pulled back a bit more, as she cavorted with power-crazed men and dallied with metahumans who could kill her in bloody, impressive ways. One wrong step, one word out of place, and her life could be forfeit. And while the thrill of constant danger hummed eternally in her veins, made her feel ecstatic and finally freaking alive, she made sure to catalogue every new discovery for the sake of self-preservation. Her curiosity burned bright as ever, and she asked constant questions of her new colleagues, even if the reward for her unyielding inquisitiveness was sometimes… less than pleasant.

So, as she looked upon these strange plants, she knew there was another lesson to be learned here. A rich tapestry of history beyond this gate that would reveal another player upon Gotham's battlefield – to put it in overly poetic terms. Fuck, she still thought like Harleen sometimes, didn't she? Back to the point: Harley had visited Robinson Park in her childhood, charted its forested depths as deep as she'd been brave enough to tread, but it'd been nearly a decade since she last stepped foot upon its grassy lawns. School and ambition had occupied her in its stead, and now, as she considered the drastic change, she wondered if it had undergone the same shift she did. If someone had come along, shaken Robinson Park by its very foundations, and awakened the true, vicious heart lying at its center all along.

But she was not here to ponder the psychology of a freaking forest. No, she was following the whims of love, as any woman fresh off entering a new relationship would be. They'd arrived in a small herd, a collection of four pickup trucks driven by goons from the construction site they'd just cleaned out. The detritus from the raid was stacked in the truck beds, several dead bodies stored in each. Harley still wasn't sure why they'd bothered collecting them to begin with, but it wasn't her place to question why. She was pulled from her musings as she heard sharp footsteps approaching and couldn't stop the resulting bombastic smile from lighting up her entire face.

"What're we doing here, Puddin'?" Harley asked as she turned to face the man of her dreams.

There he was, backlit by the rays of a setting Sun, the light casting him in shades of brilliant orange and harsh, contrasting shadows. The Clown Prince of Crime in all his glory. The Joker was wearing his customary purple and green tailored suit, wrinkled a bit and blood splattered from the exertion of the day, with a white plastic flower pinned to his lapel, as always. His slicked back hair was dyed a shade of dark green that turned black in dim lighting. He had an angular face, all sharp lines with no hint of softness, punctuated by large eyes always gleaming with a manic air. His skin was stark white – the same as hers, now – the only color held in the blood red smile painted over his lips, curving up into the hollow dimples of his cheeks.

The Joker smiled at Harley as he approached, the expression born out of genuine fondness, she could tell. She could read him better than anyone alive, you know. He came up alongside her, eyes glazed over with giddiness, and patted her on the back. Harley flinched at the touch, still a bit jumpy from yesterday's correction, but she calmed at once when she reminded herself she'd been a good girl.

"We're taking out the garbage, Pumpkin," he said, tone lined with thinly veiled amusement. "Some might call it littering, but I like to think of it as recycling, don't you agree?" He finished with a wink, drawing a delighted giggle from her.

The eight henchmen who'd accompanied the pair were busying themselves unloading the bodies from the trucks. They weren't doing the most enthusiastic job, Harley noticed. Two of them simply rolled a corpse over the floor of the bed until it fell, plopping unceremoniously to the ground with a wet crunch, a splatter of fresh blood coating the asphalt. Joker waved his arms in their direction, a scowl on his face at their lackadaisical approach.

"Careful!" the Clown Prince shouted at them, making the goons wince. "That's precious cargo you're handling!"

Harley's gaze turned back to the looming forestry. "Do we gotta drag them in there, though? I just thought, ya know, we'd drop 'em in the ocean like usual."

"Oh Harley, you still have so much to learn."

Joker slung an arm across her shoulders and pulled her tight to his body. Her nostrils were filled with the scent of his strong, pungent cologne. A smell she'd come to associate with her newfound freedom. The oils or whatever had rubbed off on her jester costume, and sometimes – when he left her alone in their room at night while he was off plotting grand schemes – she'd smell the leather and remind herself of everything she'd gained since she finally decided to stop pretending.

"A few years ago, this crazy plant woman moved into the park. She's loco, if you ask me, makes you look like Mother Theresa," he continued, before being interrupted by a thin peal of laughter. Then, in an instant, his humor abated, his expression morphing from delight into a deep, heavy-set frown. "But we don't talk about her if we can help it. Bitch doesn't deserve the time of day after the stunts she's pulled. But her precious 'babies' have proven useful. See those plants, Harley? Why don't you put your hand up to the fence." He gave her an encouraging little shove towards the metal bars. "Go on, Puddin'."

Harley frowned, her entire body tensing, but she knew better than to ignore a thinly veiled order. She stepped forward gingerly, eyeing the plants as she approached. The nearby branches and vines shuddered as she grew near, swaying in a non-existent breeze. Wait, were they moving on their own? That wasn't possible, right? This wasn't some Tolkien book. Trees didn't just get up and start walking or anything. But Harley still questioned everything she thought she knew about plants as she drew closer until she was standing just outside the fence's perimeter. She reached out with her right hand, slow and cautious, towards a thorn-covered vine on the other side. Her breath caught in her chest as, at last, she touched the tip of her index finger to the green cord.

It happened in a blur; so fast she almost missed it. The vine recoiled from her touch, moving of its own accord, and with a snap lashed out against her offending hand. Harley cried out as thorns dug into her gloved hand, slashing open the black material and leaving bloody streaks on her pale flesh in their wake. She yanked her injured hand back with a hiss, holding it close to her chest as she scrambled away from the fence. Behind her, Joker let out a bark of uproarious laughter, and – despite the sharp bite of pain – she found herself joining him, her lips drawn back in a wide, uncontrollable smile as she tried to stem the flow of blood.

Joker's laughter eventually faded into a chuckle, rumbling deep in the back of his throat. "See what I mean, Harley?" he asked as he readjusted his orange bowtie, having been disheveled during his glee. "Only an absolute lunatic would turn a nice, family friendly park into whatever the fuck this is. Good job not putting your entire arm through, my dear. Those plants? They eat people, you know. Would have ripped the limb clear off the socket and chomped away." His grin grew even wider, putting his mouth of crooked yellow teeth on full display. "Instead, you gave them a little hands d'oeuvre!"

Her lover threw his head back as the loudest round of cackling erupted from his throat. Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes as he clutched his heaving diaphragm. Harley followed in quick succession, laughing even though she really should do something about her hand but hey, his joy was her joy, and if the pun made him this happy then she'd help him revel in it. The goons shot each other surreptitious glances before they, too, joined in, their laughter somewhat forced and nervous, but no less enthusiastic.

"That's right, boss!" one of the goons said as the laughter began to die down. "Only a dumbass would wanna cross Poison–"

Joker whirled on him with a loud, vicious snarl. "What did I just fucking say about giving her the time of day?"

The goon blubbered silently for a few moments as he furiously scratched the back of his head. "Uh, I was gonna say poison… sumac, boss. Yeah? You don't wanna cross poison sumac in there or you'll get a bad rash." The henchman nudged one of his companions in the ribs, a forced smile on his face. "But we could always use the bodies to su-mac it away! Right? Am I… am I right?"

There was a momentary lull as the goon waited for other people to laugh at his stupid pun. Then the sound of a gunshot cut through the air, ringing in Harley's ears as the man clutched in vain at his chest. He gasped as blood seeped from an open hole below his clavicle. Joker stared into his dying henchman, dark eyes bloodshot and filled with rage as the pistol in his hand smoked from the barrel. The goon met his furious gaze, torso coated in thick red liquid, before the Joker pulled the trigger again. The second bullet penetrated right between the henchman's eyes, killing him instantly. His body crumpled in a heap, falling over the side of the truck and smacking to the pavement.

"I'm the only one allowed to make jokes around here," the Joker said in a rigid voice, daring anyone else to argue the point. Silence permeated the group, and, after a world-weary sigh, the Clown Prince of Crime waved his gun in the direction of the dead henchman. "Throw him in with the rest of them."

The remaining alive goons set about their task with renewed vigor. They dragged the bodies off the trucks and pavement and began to stack them next to the park fence. Harley watched them work for a minute before she turned her attention back to her beloved. Joker had recovered from his outburst, expression more relaxed, but he continued to regard his cronies with a keen, accusatory eye. The pistol still held in his hand as a warning.

"Why don't you like the plant lady, Mistah J?" Harley asked, trying to get him to refocus his fury somewhere else.

Joker ran a hand through his greasy green hair. He turned, looking at her with a frown. "The ragweed is simply annoying. Always boo-hooing about the poor, helpless planet and going off on how all men are evil. You hear those lines enough times it gets on your nerves, sucks the fun right out of a room. I'm the Clown Prince of Crime, for God's sake! I don't fucking care about cleaning the ocean!" He shook his head as he waved his free hand in the air. "But her time's running out. Rumor is Gordo and the Bats are moving in on her little eco schemes. In a few weeks she'll be rotting in an Arkham cell and finally stop yelling at the rest of us for throwing out plastic bottles. Until then? Well, we've got a few more bags of fertilizer for the weeds." Joker grinned; his lips pulled back to a near unnatural degree. "Maybe it'll help Batsy lock her up for good."

An odd feeling lanced Harley's chest. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it. She didn't know this woman or give a damn about her fate, but what they were doing felt wrong, somehow. As though they were being unfair or sowing bad karma, and she didn't even believe in karma.

"Wait, we're setting her up?" the blonde jester asked, keeping her tone neutral and devoid of accusation.

"Not necessarily, but you could say we're planting the seeds." Joker laughed heartily at his own joke as he gestured in the direction of the fence. "Plus, it's convenient."

Harley watched as the goons grabbed the body of their former peer and – with a combined heave – hoisted the corpse up and over the tall fence. The body landed on the other side with a hollow thud, firmly in park territory. The plants reacted at once; vines and branches and stems coalescing around the dead man in a canopy of hungry intent. A familiar thorned vine reached out, inspecting the body in a way reminiscent of a dog sniffing its food, before the tether snapped. The blonde stood rigid, eyes wide, as the plants scooped the body up in vine limbs, pulled it into a maw of wood and leaves, and swallowed. She couldn't see the corpse anymore, but she heard the sickening crunch of breaking bones and the wet squish of rendered flesh coming from somewhere within the forested depths.

Satisfied with the plants' response, the goons continued in their task, hauling another body upright and preparing to offer it up to the carnivorous flora. Joker chuckled behind her, clearly amused with her riveted, slightly horrified reaction to the entire display.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" he asked, though she knew it was a rhetorical question. "I'm telling you, Harley-girl, Gotham will smell much better once the ragweed is put out to compost."

And Harley Quinn, knowing better than to even hint at a disagreement, nodded her head.

IXI

Harleen came back to herself in the bar. She stared down at the map, her mind ablaze with the remembrance and its accompanying realization. This map was an overhead view of Robinson Park. The trail marked a path through the foliage to some installation lying within its bramble depths. She downed the rest of her Diet Coke in a few large gulps before standing and making a beeline to the bathroom. She grasped the government phone in her hand as she wove through the assembled patrons. She entered a short hallway and turned the corner, ignoring a couple feverishly making out against the back wall. She slid past them with a slight sneer of disgust before entering the door marked "Ladies" and locked it behind her.

The bar's bathroom was a small, single room affair. Not ideal for the amount of people packed inside, but Harleen was not one to argue building planning with the owners. The porcelain sink and toilet were grimy, thankfully she didn't plan on using them. Every inch of the walls was covered in stickers and graffiti. The thousands of warring images advertised bands, politicians, superheroes, and business logos. She got distracted for a few moments, eyebrows raised at a series of large stickers with stylized drawings of topless pin-up girls, before the blonde pulled up Waller's number in her phone, dialed, and supplied the code phrase when prompted.

It took a couple more seconds than usual before the familiar gruff voice came over the line. "Where are you?"

"Holed up in a bar, for the moment," Harleen replied.

"Explains the loud bass in the background," Waller said with a huff. "I trust you're not out there getting drunk again, Dr. Quinzel."

"I'm stone cold sober. You can administer the breathalyzer test yourself."

"That's what I like to hear." Waller paused. "I trust your little excursion was fruitful?"

Harleen ran her thumb over the paper held in her hand. "I found a crude map of Robinson Park. This Exterminator and his henchmen are hiding something in there if I had to guess. The map is incredibly vague, but I need to go now, while the trail is hot and before they can clear it out. I wanted to let you know where I'm going in case of trouble."

"I won't be able to save you, remember?" Waller said, while her voice was firm it was not unkind. "You have no official ties to me while on this assignment."

The blonde sighed. "I know, but – if something does happen to me – you should be able to pick up where I left off."

Waller scoffed. "You do love your dramatics."

"In my defense you never know in this town."

"Well then, take a photo of this map and text it to me." The older woman paused. "Any idea what these people are doing inside an abandoned park?"

"No clue. I didn't exactly have time to ask questions."

"Any new, mysterious dead bodies I should be made aware before they come across the police scanner?" Waller asked.

"None, though I could have miscalculated a swing," Harleen said. "I'm only human."

"Were they civilians?" The older woman's voice had taken on a hard, warning edge.

"Underworld goons don't count."

Waller made a sound of agreement. "That being said, you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law if you murder anyone – criminal or otherwise – and get caught. I will not intervene."

"I remember, and don't worry, I'm doing my best to avoid it."

"I hope for your sake you keep it that way. Now go."

Then, for the second time in a day, Amanda Waller hung up on Harleen. As soon as the line went dead the blonde was moving. She texted Waller a photo of the map, exited the bathroom, sidled past the fondling couple, and dashed out of the bar as fast as she could. Time was of the essence, and she'd already given the Exterminator enough warning with the earlier warehouse raid. She ran to where her Street Rod was parked, exchanged headgear, and hopped on, revving the engine once before speeding away into the night.

Robinson Park lay near the center of the city. Once a beautiful, prestigious landmark for Gotham, it was rival in size to New York City's Pelham Bay Park and was often lauded as a shining jewel of tranquility amidst the concrete jungle of the surrounding urban environment. Over the past two decades, however, Robinson Park had slowly been abandoned by the city council, falling into disrepair and overgrown ruin. Now it was too big of a landmass and too daunting of a cleanup job for even the Gotham officials to lay claim to. Whenever the discussion of cleaning and revamping the Park for public use came up in political circles the possibility was waved away by excuses of not enough finances and more needy projects the money should go to (subtle code for "into the pockets of the corrupted"). So, for nearly twenty years Robinson Park had been left to rot, and now no one treaded near its borders unless they wanted a grim reminder of what the rest of Gotham was destined to become.

Harleen pulled her bike into the vacant parking lot situated near Robinson Park's main entrance. Its ancient gray asphalt cracked and full of potholes from years of disrepair. She went through the usual routine of securing her vehicle before she slowly approached the recognizable front gate. The blonde stared up at the construct of brick and metal; it looked more rotten than she remembered. The metal letters spelling the name "Robinson Park" all covered in orange rust and the vines creeping up the brick façade thicker and more demanding. The plants on the other side of the border were still massively overgrown, continuing to bear the menacing air from her memory. Harleen was wary of getting too close and – to test the waters – she picked up a loose chunk of asphalt and hurled it into the leafy canopy. The asphalt crashed into a tree trunk with a thud and fell to the hard ground. She watched intently, waiting for any sign of unnatural movement, but the plants ignored the trespass. Still unconvinced, Harleen took a few cursory steps closer, wondering if they only responded to human intrusion. The vines grasped around the gate remained dormant, even when she slowly reached out her hand and poked them with her finger. Harleen leapt back, ready for a fight, but no retaliation was forthcoming.

Eventually she sighed and shook herself free of the paranoia. If the plants were still murderous little bastards then the Exterminator wouldn't have been able to set up shop inside. Something drastic must have changed in the six years since Harleen had last bothered to pay attention to the happenings in Robinson Park. She wondered idly about the woman Joker called a "ragweed" but knew she wouldn't find any answers there. During her time as Harley Quinn, she'd never met anyone in Gotham fitting the woman's (albeit limited) description. Nor had the ragweed come across her radar after Jeremiah conscripted her into his twisted form of crime fighting. So, she could only assume the witch who'd turned the park into a deadly woodland of carnivorous trees was now vacant from the premises, gone to God knows where.

The sky had grown cloudy overhead, blotting out the moon and stars. She frowned at the thick forest, noting the lack of light penetrating the canopy and determined her night vision goggles were unlikely to work within. Thankfully, one of the staples of her utility belt was a small, industrial grade flashlight. Harleen activated the light as she pulled out the map and her eyes flitted to the beginning of the trail, noted with the landmark "front gate". Taking a deep, steadying breath, the blonde stepped forward, onto an old asphalt path leading into the wilds of Robinson Park. She tensed as she crossed the threshold, still waiting for retaliation from the flora, but none was forthcoming. She took a few more calming breaths as she resumed walked, getting her heart rate under control as she made forward progress. They were just plants, for Christ's sake. Yes, she'd had one traumatic experience, but they were dormant now. No need to continue jumping at shadows, even if Harleen knew the trauma response only abated with repeated therapy over a long period of time and couldn't be simply willed into obeying by brute force.

She consciously ignored the slight throbbing on the back of her right hand where three raised, thin scars marred the flesh.

Her flashlight was a solid beam of illumination within a darkened jungle. The leaves and vines were thick overhead, blotting out the sky and light pollution which normally obscured the stars from view. There were no sounds alighting in the forest. No hum of insects or chatter of woodland creatures going about their nightly activities. The entire park had a creeping, unnatural feel to it. Harleen expected a thick fog to roll in at any moment and choke the air; the sense of foreboding pungent and near palpable with every breath she took. But she pressed forward, reminding herself she'd faced worse before. Stared monsters in the face and suffered near-death experiences all in the name of love. This forest was conquerable by comparison.

At length, she came upon the first landmark noted on the trail. A large, broken fountain depicting Atlas holding up the world. The once copper fountain had turned a shade of sickly green and moss covered the sides of the circular base. The cracked asphalt path encircled the fountain, branching off into separate thoroughfares at all four compass points. Harleen consulted her map and noted the dotted trail branched to the right, so she followed accordingly, walked around the decrepit mythical scene and continued on, deeper into the woods.

She walked for about a quarter of a mile, traveling through a claustrophobic tunnel of surrounding forestry which encroached upon the path in a dense canopy. Harleen nearly stumbled over the next landmark, an old wooden bench covered in thick vines. The green cords wrapped tight around the seat, and the blonde got the distinct impression the plants had torn the bench in twain, somehow. In any other city she would have questioned the veracity of the observation. But this was Gotham, and Harleen had firsthand experience with how violent these plants could be when properly awakened and aroused. Her mind drifted again to the witch of the woods, a veritable American version of Baba Yaga, and she had to remind herself again if the woman in question was still present in Robinson Park Harleen would be dead by now. So, the blonde swallowed the lump in her throat and continued along the trail, deeper into the leafy confines of the forest.

Harleen traveled for over half an hour on foot, past more landmarks and along various branching paths. Her pace slowed after a time, the path becoming more overgrown as the plant life around her grew thicker, denser. The blonde mused it felt more akin to trekking through a rainforest jungle than a city park. The asphalt beneath her feet left no footprints behind, but the path had still seen recent use, as evidenced by the clear signs of someone chopping away at the surrounding foliage with a machete or other bladed instrument. A desperate attempt to beat back the encroachment of Mother Nature.

She tensed at the thought of meeting someone else along the path and quickly drew her handgun from its holster. While the mallet was her weapon of choice, she needed both hands to properly wield it. Besides, she had a mount she could fix to the barrel of the gun where the flashlight could be attached, and after some quick finagling she was walking through the forest with her handgun and flashlight at the ready in one hand, the map gripped tight in the other. The blonde tread quietly through the jungle, making sure to avoid stepping on fallen twigs and branches as much as possible. The beam of her flashlight would give her away to onlookers, of course, but the saving grace was everyone's inability to use night vision tonight. She'd see their own flashlight beams in turn, potentially giving her enough warning to act before stumbling into another violent encounter.

She'd passed the final landmark some time ago, her senses raised in turn as she drew nearer to the X marking the end of the trail. Then, without warning, the jungle fell away, revealing a sizeable, natural clearing. Standing at the far end was a building. The two storied structure was made of the same brick as the entrance gate, covered in dense vines as well, with its windows suspiciously clear of blockage and no light shining from within. The ancient asphalt path led directly to the building's entrance, and the old sign hanging above the closed doors read "Welcome Center". Harleen folded the map and put it away as she approached the building, knowing instinctively she'd arrived at her destination. She tried making a sweep around the building's perimeter, but soon found the forest on either side encroached upon the Center proper, blocking access to the outside edge. Harleen frowned, she wasn't fond of the idea of there being only one feasible way in and out of the structure, but she was doomed regardless. The blonde rounded to the front of the building, steeled herself by the double doors, before reaching down and pushing on the handle. The door gave way, groaning on old, rusted hinges, and she slipped inside, letting it fall closed behind her.

Her flashlight illuminated the contents of what she immediately deduced was the old reception area. A sparsely furnished room, save for a couple metal benches on the left and right walls, a stand containing a collection of ancient and decaying park pamphlets, and a large, half-circle desk on the opposite side of the room meant for a few staffers to occupy at once. A frayed, worn banner was hung up on the opposite side of the desk, reading "Summertime Celebrations Ahoy!", dating the season the park officially fell to pieces. The floor was littered with dead leaves and dirt tracks, signs of human traffic despite the supposedly abandoned nature of the building. Harleen tried a light switch on the wall, but the bulbs refused to cooperate. Frowning, she headed cautiously towards a wooden door to the left of the reception desk, traversing into the next room with care.

She found herself standing in a massive room the size of an indoor gymnasium. A gathering area for guests to relax and congregate, based on what Harleen could deduce from its layout, with a low stage on the far-left wall for hosting guests or special events. Low tables and plush lined chairs and benches were scattered about the room, with massive windows covering the walls to let in copious amounts of daylight. There were even a few large skylights in the slanted ceiling to afford more sunlight to shine through. What struck the blonde as curious, however, were the potted plants stacked on every available flat surface. Upon the tabletops, the benches, the stage, even lining the floor near the windows to soak up ample Sun. Most of the plants had – unfortunately – died due to lack of care, but a few hardy specimens Harleen had no means of identifying had survived the abandonment, overgrowing the confines of their pots and encroaching upon the furniture and tiles in a way that reminded her of the outside forest.

The longer she stared at the potted plants the more aware Harleen became of a glaring disparity. Someone had tended to these plants, perhaps years ago now, collecting them within the Welcome Center for a reason and placing them with care. Another party had invaded, however, trudged through the plants and upended their placement. Some pots had been thrown about, their clay bodies broken and shattered, soil littering the ground. Cigarette butts lined the base of other pots, their ash mixing in with the dirt, tainting it with the remains of tar and nicotine. No one who cared enough to turn this room into a makeshift greenhouse would sully their collection like this. No, there were unwanted intruders upon this sanctuary, and Harleen's mind wandered again to the missing witch of the Robinson Park woods.

A cluster of vines was growing along the back wall. Stray singular strands, at first, coming together into thicker knots as they neared the center of the room. They weren't products of any pots she could see at first glance, but as Harleen approached and trailed her flashlight beam over the cords she realized the vines were leading down a dark hallway branching off from the rear of the room. Her skin prickled, hairs standing on end, though she knew she had to follow the trail. Slowly, the blonde picked her way through the maze of upturned pots and old furnishings until she was standing before the hallway. She took a deep, calming breath, verified the safety on her gun was off, then – head and weapon held high – she trudged into the unknown.

The vines coalesced around her until they covered every inch of available wall space. There was evidence of doors on either side, but the plants had grown over the thresholds, blocking access to the rooms beyond. Then, to her right, she caught sight of an odd green phosphorescent light emanating from somewhere below. Harleen turned her flashlight towards the illumination and noted the presence of a wide staircase leading down into a basement level. The vines seemed to be originating from there, growing up the side of the staircase and along the railing in thicker cords than she'd seen thus far. A peculiar scent lingered in the air as the blonde approached. The smell of flowers, lilies in particular – if Harleen had to guess, filled her nostrils despite the distinct lack of producing blossoms. The sense of foreboding escalated as she looked over the banister, down into the stairwell which took a sharp right turn after half a flight, obscuring the lower floor from view. Something powerful was lingering in this place. The likes of which was beyond Harleen's ability to fend off if confronted. For a moment, the blonde considered turning around, leaving Robinson Park, and crawling back to Waller empty handed but alive. Except what good would that do other than ensure her continued servitude to a man who saw her as something less than human? No, she'd agreed to walk this path, and Harleen – for better and worse – wasn't a quitter.

So, staring in the face of potential destiny, Harleen readied her worthless gun and descended the staircase.

Several changes occurred as she reached the basement level. First, the scent of lilies grew more potent until it permeated the atmosphere with a heady, unyielding aroma. Second, the vines had taken on distinct morphological changes. Their hue a brighter, healthier green, and their surfaces woven in with slabs of what appeared to be brown bark. Third, the plant life was more prominent here, covering every available surface. Walls, floor, and ceiling coated in vines and bark, turning the basement hallway Harleen found herself standing in into a tunnel designed by Mother Nature herself, leading her down into the bowels of Gaia. Finally, the most peculiar development of all, were the thin, vein-like strands of a bright green fluid charting through the vines in fractal patterns resembling a human circulatory system. They were the source of the harsh, phosphorescent light, bathing the entire hallway in an eerie glow.

At the end of the hallway, bordered by thick ropes of vines and bark, was a set of large metal double doors, green light spilling out through the gaps in its edges. A beckoning call to what lay beyond, and Harleen Quinzel, so doomed, heeded the siren's whims.

'There are moments in life that reshape a person's world. Where a tectonic shift occurs in your personal universe, and who you were before the pivotal moment ceases to exist in some capacity, whether the change is instantaneous or inevitable given the passing of time.'

She reached out with a slightly trembling hand as she approached the doors. The metal was cool to her touch which surprised her, somewhat, though the blonde wasn't quite sure what she'd been expecting instead. With another deep breath, she placed her weight against the handle and pushed the door open. She stepped through to the other side and found herself standing in a room unlike anything she'd expected to find hidden in the basement of a public park's welcome center.

'I've experienced several of these moments over the course of my existence. The first time I realized my parents weren't above using me as collateral. The day I received my formal job offer with Arkham Asylum. The night I stared into the eyes of a familiar madness and realized I'd been the same brand of monster all along, to name a few. All marked formulative milestones in the creation of this unstable conglomeration I am today.'

Someone had turned the subterranean room into a makeshift laboratory. Nothing remained behind of its original occupants to clue Harleen in on what the room had once been used for by park staff. The large space was now furnished with folding tables holding various lab equipment she recognized from her med school days. Whiteboards were placed around the room, now mostly wiped clean of their contents by thorough hands. The lab had been cleaned out in a hurry, some beakers were turned over and a Bunsen burner was still lit on one of the tables. The scent of fresh coffee and recently lit cigarettes cut through the still pungent aroma of lilies. Someone had been here within the past two hours, and Harleen knew without a doubt the Exterminator's goons were neck deep in whatever… this was.

'But what makes these moments so powerful, so terrifying, is you can never anticipate them. You'll be going about your life, ignorant and blissful, when the existence-transmogrifying moment occurs and throws everything off balance.'

But Harleen's eyes didn't linger on the surrounding lab for more than a scant few seconds. A cursory glance as her attention was drawn to a focal point in the rear of the room. The vines and bark continued to cover every available surface, chopped away in some places to afford space for the lab equipment. The cords funneled together, coalescing around a contraption built into the far wall the blonde vaguely recognized as a stasis chamber. A glowing, upright cylinder filled with the odd, glowing green liquid. The plants surrounded the chamber, growing over the metal parts, trying to eat the man-made creation alive.

'Without fail, every time it happens, I feel the same thing. A part of me dying at the moment's touch. Whether the part that dies was good or bad is always determined by time, but in the same instant something new blossoms in its place.'

But the machine wasn't what made Harleen's breath catch in her throat. Set her heart to pound inside her chest and a tremor to run down her arms.

'A terrifying, fresh spark in a soul plagued by drought.'

No, it was the sight of the last thing she'd ever expected. A vision as wondrous as it was horrifying.

'And nothing can ever be the same.'

Because there, suspended within the chamber and surrounded by a dearth of pulsating plant life, was a woman.

End Notes: At long last, here she is.

I have to confess, when I first started writing this story I expected it to take about 20k worth of material to get to Ivy's reveal, but here I am sitting at more than twice that amount. Further proof to the fact I still have no realistic sense of my own content producing capabilities and how long it takes me on average to progress through plot points. So, my initial estimation this story will be about 150k in total is undoubtedly completely off, and I hope, dear readers, you're ready to be in this for the long haul. Because, in truth, we're just getting started.