The monsters iron-strong arms squeezed tight around Batman's chest- an ordinary man would have been crushed to jelly in a matter of seconds. But the Batsuit contained enough armor to forestall this fate for a while- long enough for Batman to wriggle one arm down to his utility belt. He felt around the various pouches on the belt, unable to see where his hands were going.

Meanwhile, Batgirl continued to dodge the blows of the two monsters that surrounded her. She no longer launched any attacks of her own- she had put everything she had into that one blow against the creature's knee, and hadn't so much as slowed the beast down. Clearly, she was unable to harm her adversaries, so she focused instead on avoiding their attacks. This was easy enough for such a highly trained martial artist- the monsters were strong and tough but their vegetal nature meant that speed was not one of their strengths. Batgirl focused on acrobatics, keeping the monsters attention on herself and playing for time. Every second meant more time for Batman or herself to think of a solution. As a huge claw passed mere inches from her head, burying itself an inch deep in the concrete floor, she hoped her partner thought quickly.

Poison Ivy, as was her habit, stayed on the sidelines and cheered her babies on. "Go, my lovelies! Kill them both! Then, we'll make nice mulch out of them and spread them on your little sisters. I've heard that bats produce some of the best fertilizer!"

Eventually, as he heard his armor begin to crack and buckle, Batman reached what he was searching for- a hypodermic needle filled with an odd red fluid. After a few seconds of fumbling, he managed to get a proper grip on it- and with all his strength, he plunged the needle through the beast's bark-like skin before triggering the release of the contents into the creature's circulatory system.

The effect was instantaneous. The plant monster dropped its prey and began to scramble around in agony, writhing and shaking uncontrollably. From somewhere in its throat, a hideous pained gurgle emerged- Batman knew that if the monster had been given a voice it would be screaming. He tried to ignore the sound, for it played havoc with his conscience to know that he had inflicted such a painful death on a living creature- even one as mindless as Ivy's mutant slaves. From experience, the Dark Knight knew that Ivy never gave her creations sentience- she preferred her servants to have no will of their own. Instead, he focused on getting his breath back, as the monster slowly sank to the ground. Without waiting to see the green Goliath's death, the Dark Knight raced to his sidekick's aid, plunging a second needle into one monster's arm. He hurled a third syringe like a throwing knife at the final mutant, striking it in the chest. Batgirl leapt forward and triggered the syringe with a palm strike. A few seconds after that, all three mutants had fallen, and were slowly beginning to shrivel up like dead leaves. Poison Ivy raced to her creations, searching vainly for a way to save them.

"My babies!" she wailed, her voice choked with horror and loss. "What have you done?! What did you inject them with?!"

"I suspected you would have some form of plant-based defenses, Ivy" Batman growled as he and Batgirl subdued the self-proclaimed Queen of Green "So I came prepared. Those syringes contained an experimental herbicide I created for just this occasion."

As the Batcuffs closed around her wrists, Poison Ivy gave voice to another bout of not-quite laughter. "It doesn't matter! I've tainted enough drugs to kill thousands, Batman! I only regret I didn't have more time- I could have wiped this city clean! From narcotics, to prescription drugs, to the water supply! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Batman's expression never wavered as he checked the cuffs. "You didn't poison anything, Ivy"

"What are you talking about?" the redhead snapped. To Batgirl's surprise she actually sounded angry and indignant "I confess. It was all me! Why would I lie?"

"Because you believe that if you confess, the real criminal will have more time to kill. Every dead human counts, right Ivy?" Batman gestured to the laboratory set up at the end of the greenhouse. "Your lab isn't set up to produce a poison- its set up for analysis. You didn't taint the drugs, but I'd guess that you've been trying to figure out who HAS and how. Did you find anything? Bear in mind that I'll search your notes and find out the truth anyway, but if you tell me it will count in your favor during sentencing."

Ivy glared, but then her face became downcast and eventually she began to speak. "The toxin…is like nothing I've ever seen before. I don't think one of us- one of the Arkham crowd- is responsible. The poison is completely different from any of the signature toxins we employ, and while I wouldn't put it past the clown or the other killers to come up with something new, I doubt they'd use it for this. The toxin is a fast-acting nerve agent, and can be injected, ingested or inhaled all with the same result: pain, paralysis and death all within a matter of minutes. That's all I know."

As Poison Ivy was lead to the ambulance that would take her to Arkham Asylum, Batman and Batgirl entered the Batmobile. As the car silently raced off into the night, Batgirl asked the question that was foremost in her mind.

"What now?"

Batman grunted, but didn't answer for a moment. When he did, he sounded incredibly weary "I don't know. We have no leads, no evidence, and all our main suspects have been eliminated. Perhaps it's time I stopped racing around and started thinking." He turned to the girl beside him "Batgirl, you and Robin will patrol the docks. Try to find the boats bringing in the drugs- maybe we can find something there. I'll contact Nightwing and Azrael and have them monitor the skies in the Batwing. Meanwhile, I'll go to the Batcave and examine what little clues we've amassed so far."


On the other side of the city, in the run-down slum known as Crime Alley, a man known to his friends as Murphy exited an alley. He'd had another name once, but he tried not to think about it too much. In fact, Murphy found that it was getting harder and harder to remember his past at all. In his mind this was all to the good.

Murphy had never bought from the man in the alley before- normally he bought from Mario, who was with one of the Syndicates. True, Mario was pricier than some of the other dealers Murphy knew, but his stuff was generally better quality. But Mario was gone, arrested that very morning according to rumor. It had taken him forever to find a new dealer; the cops were cracking down hard on drugs lately. Murphy had, of course, seen the various 'public service' messages that the GCPD was putting out. They warned about a new danger to drug-users, and pleaded with people not to buy narcotics, saying that someone had poisoned a lot of the stuff coming into the city.

Murphy had dismissed the rumors at first- after all, the cops were always trying to ruin his good time, and this smelled like scare tactics to him. But then two of his friends died, right in front of him. Mitch had been a heroin addict, and had died in Murphy's apartment. Jennie had been a meth-addict like himself, and had died screaming in the local drug den three days ago. That had been enough to scare Murphy off the stuff for a few days, but eventually his need for the drug overcame his fear of death.

'After all' he told himself 'It's not like the stuff is ALL poisoned. Jennie and Mitch just had bad luck that's all.' Deep down, he recognized his thoughts as coming from his addiction, but knew he was powerless to stop himself. Eventually, he'd found someone who could hook him up with what he needed. He hurried home, the need for the meth lending him speed. The moment he reached his dingy, one room apartment, he locked the door. With trembling fingers, he placed the small rock he'd bought in his pipe (made from some tubing and a broken lightbulb), before reaching for his lighter.

Just as he was about to strike the flame, he paused. Even allowing that the poisoning of his friends was just bad luck, that hardly meant he was safe. Murphy's life had been characterized with what he saw as extremely poor luck- bad parents, bad grades, bad jobs, and a bad habit he knew was killing him slowly. If luck were the deciding factor in the killings, then he was already a dead man. He knew he should stop- just put down the lighter and call that clinic- the rehab place. The lady there said she could help him…

In the end though, it was too late for him. Whether due to his hard life, or a simple weakness of will, Murphy lacked the willpower to give up his addiction. He spun the wheel of his lighter and pulled in a lungful of meth-rich smoke. A feeling of warmth and bliss suffused him as the drug entered his system. His body stopped aching, and he felt like a human being again. But even now, at the apex of his high, he knew that he'd gotten lucky. And that good luck never lasted forever.

A/N

For an interesting examination of the Joker's mindset, check out the Adherents web s ite. just G oogle Joker and Religion.