"I said I'd kill them," Pamela told Fredericks, absentmindedly pulling his stolen eye from out of her mouth, which she had casually been suckling as she strained her mind to find the next bit of detail to share with the man. "And when I said it, I had meant it with all of my heart. At least, in the mental sense. In the physical… well, I was trying to turn my life around, make a name for myself. Why would I jeopardize that with murder? No… no, I never had the intention of murdering those bastards… But I nevertheless had my own plans for vengeance, didn't I, Fredericks?"

Fredericks was fully unconscious by this point. The shock of everything he had endured at her hands had broken him now. He had not the strength or ability to stay aware. "Fredericks?" Realize that he was out, she grinned, and proceeded thusly to fondle the man, sizing up all aspects of his body and imagining just how she would instruct upon him her next lesson. She felt in her heart that she knew exactly what to cut off next…

"Nevertheless…" She stood and left him, allowing the vines to ascend her on high. The ornate window of the abandoned Mason Botanical gave her a gorgeous view of Gotham's brightly lit and energetic entertainment district. Two casinos blocked her view of the Aztec Greenery, a colossal, pyramid-like greenhouse with thousands of varieties of plant-life within. She would demolish them both…with everyone inside. "…would you remember anything I teach you tonight, Fredericks, if I kept on telling you everything…?" she whispered to herself, clawing at the window. "I hardly remember it myself… and yet I remember it all… and yet I don't…"

"Isn't that why you need someone to remind you, Pam?" A voice from the thick brush to her right suddenly spoke up, and Pamela smiled.

"You're back…" She looked around. "I wasn't expecting you back for a few more days…"

"Got into a little bit of stint. Had to run for my life. Vacation cut…short…you know, due to me cutting a few people…"

"Cut them? That's tame. You're losing your edge," said Pamela, turning back to the window.

"Well, it's not as if I had time to do things the right way, did I? They had guns and there were fifteen of them." The newcomer stepped out of the brush. Beautiful, striking, she was a golden flower among the greenery, yellow-gold curls situated beneath a tight green headband. Her green croptop was laced in ivy from Pamela's paradise, her black high-heeled boots shredded in several spots.

"I brought you a souvenir," the woman said, holding out a black crocodile-leather wallet, stuffed with hundreds of dollars in cash. "Compliments of my latest kill…"

Pamela snatched the wallet out of her hand happily, grinning from ear to ear, and flipped through the darling pocketbook. The bloodied identification card showed a balding, middle aged man with droopy eyes. Arnold Jaster, it read. "Ugly," she hissed, and her friend snorted.

"He smelled funny. Kind of like, I don't know, old tobacco. Does that make sense?"

"Hardly," Pamela whispered, dropping the wallet into the lagoon below. Her friend watched in horror and irritation.

"Why!? I counted it, Pamela! There was $15,400 in cash alone! That doesn't include the American Express and the-"

Pamela spun around at once and struck like a snake, her hand gripping the woman by the neck tightly, who gasped aloud, her eyes widening.

"Shhh," Pamela whispered. "Don't talk…"

"L-l-lemme go…" The woman was gasping, shaking against Pamela's powerful hold. Pamela shook her head.

"No, I'm enjoying this…"

"P-please…"

Pamela released her, and tossed her onto the floor. Glowering at the woman, she said, "Do you know where I was tonight?"

"Y-yes! Yes, I d-do! I had heard about it… I was so scared, Pamela!"

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Pamela wrenched out a foot and slammed it across the woman's face, sending her spiraling dangerous towards the ledge of the upper deck upon which they stood. She almost went over and down into the lagoon. Blood flew from the woman's busted nose. "CALL ME BY MY NAME!"

"I-Ivy!" the woman shrieked, cradling in terror as she sported her bleeding face. "Ivy! I'm sorry, Ivy!"

"DO YOU KNOW WHERE I WAS!?" Pamela screamed, and as she did, her vines swept down upon her and entwined at her silent call, while others hissed angrily at the woman, hovering over her and striking forward in the air like angry snakes.

"You were…arrested… by Batman…" The woman had fallen face-down and was in an almost worshipable pose. "Forgive me…"

"DO YOU KNOW HOW I WAS ARRESTED!?"

"B-because…"

"BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T THERE! BECAUSE YOU DECIDED TO TAKE A VACATION AT THE PEAK OF OUR LARGEST MOVEMENT! BECAUSE YOU FORGOT WHERE YOUR OBLIGATIONS LIE!"

"I didn't think…you'd need my help…"

Pamela shook her head. "Silence. What good have you been this year, Toxica? What good have you been to Mother Earth at all? You, who deny her your full attention?"

"Pam- Ivy-" But Pamela had caught the start of the usage of that name, and thus, by her mental command, the vines struck and swooped Toxica into the air, flailing her about ravenously as the woman screamed, Pamela's head wrenched back in psychotic, energetic laughter. She glanced down at Frederick lying on the plant below…and saw that he had awoken, staring up at the scene in terror with his one remaining eye. Pamela sighed in relief.

"Finally." She struck out an arm, and immediately the vines followed her command, dragging Toxica screaming into the darkness above. Later, Toxica. I'll speak more with you later. She then leapt forward, diving from the platform confidently and into the poisonous, putrid lagoon, overwhelmed with the most toxic chemicals imaginable, which she breathed in joyously, even as her vines came for her and delivered her back to the surface, and back to where Fredericks lay.

She landed before him, dripping and soaked at every inch in poison, and she immediately began to circle her prey. Fredericks was whimpering uncontrollably as each fleck of poison dripped near him… He had long since given up his desire to be killed: he knew now that she would never kill him so easily as she had the bailiff and Kroker…

"Had a nice nap?"

Fredericks said nothing. He could not say anything. Pamela shook her head, sighing.

"If you don't answer me now, I'll cut of your dick. Then, I'll proceed to remove your feet, and then afterwards-"

"I-had-a nice nap…yes…" Fredericks strained, his breath ragged and weak. Pamela smiled. "Good boy," she said.

She proceeded to lean against the back end of the giant plant, and, sighing deeply, said, "So, as I was saying… after I saw Alissa's email, why, I obsessed with the idea of vengeance on my behalf. I wanted to see them broken and humiliated… I wanted to see them hurt…"

It had hurt, but only for the briefest of moments. When she had swung the crowbar, she had missed on the first swing and cracked her shin with it. But she did not care: the pain was pleasure at this point. Madly, grinning almost demonically, she swung the thing against, and this time, the padlock broke free from the door. Happily, giggling insanely, Pamela wrenched open the side door that led into the janitor's closet from the outside of the biology building (and thus, to the rest of the building). The night was cold and rainy… but she wore a simple green dress and nothing more, embracing the cold rain and wind upon her almost completely unshielded skin.

Pitter patter, pitter patter down the hall with wet tracks. The halls were pitch black, save for a security light here and there, abandoned and ghostly. But she liked ghosts now. She liked hauntings now…

Lab 3A. Botanical Analysis and Experimentation. A home away from home, she had had her first botany class in this room, a wide-spread lab of flowers and lilypads, of cellular examinations and vegetables… and its practical sessions often took them to the grand greenhouse outside, a jungle within a concrete world.

The lab felt more…yessness, when abandoned and at her personal disposal. She immediately went for the samples encased near the back. Labels told many stories, namely: Cannabis, Fittonia albivenis, Lophophora williamsii, Papaver somniferum… Hallucinogens. Beautiful, god-like in their form, truly divine hallucinogens.

I'm going to break them…. I'm going to destroy their names…

You're going to rip their reputations asunder…

They'll be less than human…

They won't even qualify, nope.

And when I upload the videos, they'll suffer the same humiliation they have wrought upon me…

FUCK THEM OVER GOOD, PAMELA!

I WILL THRIVE IN THEIR PUBLIC MISERY!

YOU WILL BE A GODDESS OVER THEIR NAMES!

I WILL MAKE THEM NOTHING.

She collapsed.

Clawing at the encased perfections, she stood and cried for the longest time, her body shaking as her tears fell. She wanted to scream. She wanted to smash. But all she could do was stand there, before these powerful, mind-altering plants, and sob into a crumples mess upon the floor. It hurt. It hurt so much. Her body felt broken, her heart ripped asunder. Her chest was in so much pain from how much her entire life had hurt. Why? Why did I deserve this? WHAT DID I DO!? WHAT DID I DO!? I was a good student. I studied every day, I answered every question, I made people think about the principals of existence! I TRIED, DAMN IT! I TRIED SO HARD! WHY!? WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!?

Fumbling hands and shaking body, she sobbed hysterically as she worked at the table, grinding up the plant matters… compositing Jayrox 9 with FLC-17B… Words, numbers, letters, so many things scrambled about in her mind as she worked relentlessly into the night, sweating endlessly, her tears mingling with the waters of her labor…

I'll kill them through humiliation. I'll never lay a finger on them… I'll never lay a finger on them…

A flash in her mind. Otto Rock, strung up by a metal wire, nude, and mostly skinned…he was alive, and screaming… She felt a pang downstairs. A soft, gentle pang: arousal. But she shook her head fiercely, forcing the disgusting thought from her mind, her hands fumbling clumsily as she poured Ucyclomaede-24 into a mixture with powdered Fittonia albivenis…

Another flash in her mind. Archibald Helan, castrated in full, bleeding to death from the massive hole where his filthy penis once attached to his pelvic regions, his eyes missing, flies laying maggot eggs in the wounds that decorated him… She tried to force the thought away again…barely did so… The compound billowed out deadly scarlet smoke, but Pamela Isley did not care. She scrapped the mess into a biological containment unit and started from scratch, all over again…

Another flash. Donovan Ventimago, skin a deadly shade of green, vomiting mass amounts of toxic matter as his eyes melted and demons drug him into a flaming hole, deep within the hell of the earth… She closed her eyes, spilling the deadly contents all over the tabletop, her body trembling as she fell to the floor, her head twisting back… That thought…it was too…

No, it's not beautiful! No, it's not beautiful! I can't be thinking like this…

Her hand was fondling herself… fantasizing about these very thoughts…

STOP IT, PAMELA! she screamed at herself within. STOP IT NOW!

Why, Pamela? Isn't it pleasurable to think of the hell that awaits the damned?

LEAVE ME ALONE!

I'll never leave you alone… This time, it was not that deep, buried, feminine voice within that she had always referred to as "Ivy…" No… this time, the voice had changed. It was the voice of Otto Rock. I bet you wanted me to fuck you, you just couldn't admit it. You loved it, what I did…you enjoyed the pleasurable sensation of a good rape, didn't you?

"STOP IT!" Pamela screamed aloud, crazily, wildly slamming her fists against the tables. She leapt to her feet, and screaming in rage, began to smash the room with all of her rage, beakers flying in every direction and cases of plant matter exploding glass everywhere. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" she sobbed, falling forward onto the shards of glass. Her sobs were joined with screams of pain as her legs were shredded, inch by inch… "STOP IT!" she hissed. "STOP IT…"

"Stop it, please," Bruce Wayne asked the small child sitting behind him, as he caught in his hand the fifth peanut that the small boy had released at the back of his head in the last five minutes. "Four times in fun…five times is punishment. Consider this last one a freebie, son." His intense blue eyes burned into the small boy a look of deepest, darkest warning… and the boy shrunk into a salted slug-like form, curling in fear against his snoring mother.

The first class was decently comfortable, with strong billowing of cold AC comforting the back of his head from his chair… However, oddly enough, air conditioning like this just did not seem to have it for him anymore. He blamed a situation one year before. Being frozen into a solid block of ice left wonders on physical preferences. Thank you, Victor Fries.

A cell phone call. "This is Wayne."

"Hey, Bruce…" A young man's voice, and one disapproving at that. Bruce smiled. He had expected this call. Looking around, he saw that most of the passengers were headphone bound or else asleep, but nevertheless, he stood and walked down the way, stealing away into the bathroom.

"Before you say anything," said Bruce, "yes, I told Alfred to keep this one silent from you. I needed someone who could take care of Gotham while I was gone, and I knew you'd argue with me."

Richard Grayson did not sound satisfied. On the contrary, "Robin" intensified the frustration in his voice. "Permission to remind you of the last major outing you partook on your own, Bruce, and why we agreed that afterward, you'd use me for all future endeavors of this magnitude?"

"Denied. The only reason Jones got the upper hand on that one, need I remind you, is because you decided to give me a call at the wrong moment. Cell phone calls and giant crocodile hunts in the sewers do not match, Dick."

"Nonetheless, you should have told either me or Barbara. She's pretty pissed, Bruce."

"She'll get over it, and so will you," said Bruce shortly. "I've got a strong lead on Woodrue's apprehension and I have it all worked out."

"How the hell do you have it worked out when you haven't even seen the security in place? He's going to have it up the ass, Bruce."

"I anticipate it. That's why I brought the essentials. The terminal modifier has been tested on fifty-seven different security systems across the nation alone. It will work."

"Bruce, this one concerns me, alright. He's going to hightail it if there's one mistake."

"And I'll be the one to live with it," Bruce reminded him firmly. Dick, however, was not impressed.

"Alfred wants to send you the jet. He asked me to meet you in Portland."

"A little late for that one. I'm an hour away from Portland. Anyway, I told him no. It's still damaged from Crane's bomb, and I don't trust it for this kind of trek right now. I'm not going to need it, anyway. Woodrue may be a killer, but he's hardly Croc or the Joker. I'll be in and out with all the information I need. After tonight, there won't be anything stopping us from apprehending her."

"And what makes you think Woodrue will lead you to Isley?"

Bruce smiled. "Simple. They were in business together, and that machine discovered in Woodrue's home is linked to a series of mutagens associated with Isley's murders. Most likely, according to the evidence we found in his home, Woodrue tried to have her killed and failed. He'll be wanting to keep tabs on her, so he can ensure his sanctuary continues. But it doesn't matter if all of this fails to lead us any closer to discovering Isley's whereabouts or not… Woodrue has to face charges for the murders he's been responsible for. I'm going to drag him back to Gotham and dump him on the GCPD stairs. Gordon will take him out from there."

"And you realize that the Zodiac Shire estate is a mini-nation, right?"

"The term is 'micro nation,' Dick."

"Zodiac Shire isn't bound by official U.S. law as long as Woodrue is on that property."

"He'll be leaving that property," Bruce promised.

"How you gonna do it?" A new voice, that of a young woman.

"Good to hear from you too, Barbara. And the answer is simple. He can either come quietly or unconscious. It really isn't that complicated. Bottom line is that Woodrue's guilty of mass murder and illegal trade with a known terrorist."

"And you're positive you can handle his security systems?" Barbara Gordon asked testily, sounding uncertain and annoyed.

"You looked into it, haven't you?"

"No. As a matter of fact, for all intents and purposes, the Zodiac Shire Manor doesn't exist on federal mandatory record. I hacked into their primary database with Alfred. Neither of us could find a record of Woodrue's security systems."

"In the end, I don't think it will be his security systems that I'll have to be careful of," said Bruce. "More of the man behind him. It's obvious Woodrue's a psychopath. But then again, that seems to be my area of specialty, doesn't it? A crazy for a crazy."

"Youd' better keep your damn radio on, Bruce," Barbara warned him darkly. "I want you in full contact the entire time."

"You focus on Gotham. Let me focus on Woodrue. Dick's going to need your help managing the city while I'm gone."

"Bruce!"

There came a knock on the door. "Excuse me, is there someone in there? I really have to piss."

"Just a moment, I'm coming," Bruce called. "Later, Barbara. Dick."

"Bruce!" he heard them both exclaimed, but smiling sheepishly, he disconnected and allowed the elderly lady into the bathroom.

Nothing to worry about, he assured himself. Not at all.

He glanced up at the electronic board above the seats. Estimated Arrival- Portland, OR: 42 minutes. Passengers please be aware of landing protocols.

Nearly fifty minutes later, the plane touched down at Portland International Airport, and Bruce Wayne descended into his oncoming, almost expected nightmare…

"Nightmares?" asked Dr. Stefan, tapping onto his laptop quickly. "Describe them to me."

"I… I don't want to…" Pamela breathed into the couch-arm. "Can't I just get away with telling you I'm having them constantly and move on to the next part of my fucked up life…?"

"No, Pamela. I need to know about your nightmares because we have to understand them. We have to understand the source of the problem. I want to help you, but you have to help yourself in order for me to do that."

"Okay, fine," she replied quickly and nastily. "Okay, okay, fine, fine! Alright, here we go! Um, yeah, let's see, let's really fucking see! I was raped as a toddler, and got hooked on drugs at the age of three, and um, oh yeah, I watched my mother get stabbed to death in front of me by a terrorist, and-"

"Pamela!" Stefan cut across quickly, looking agitated. "I'm being serious, and so should you. Do you want these nightmares continuing?"

"I didn't ask for this, Stefan!" she exploded at him, throwing her arms out in anger. "I was raped! I was raped and nobody will listen! NOBODY! All they want to talk about is public indecent exposure and how I'm always standing around the greenhouse with a dumb expression on my face! OF COURSE I FUCKING DO, IT'S THE ONLY PLACE THAT MAKES ANY GODD-"

He held up a hand before she said that disgusting word. "Listen, Pamela… I believe you. Alright!? I believe you… and I am going to do everything I can to help you. Coreman's is going to help you find a lawyer. Administrator Kane is speaking with Dean Nolan about what happened. And the GCPD has been informed."

"Oh, I feel better, then, don't I?" She crossed her arms and turned her back to him, burying her face into the back of the couch. "So." She punched at the couch. "Much." Again. "BETTER!" She screamed into the fabric, rattling Stefa, who dropped his pen in surprise. She was shaking crazily, her hands wringing about her head, a sign that Stefan had learned throughout his years of treating her meant she was enduring unimaginable stress. And, as such, he decided to respond in the way he had been doing for years. He already had the iSpeaker in his pocket, and pulled it out now, hitting the button to play what he had already predicted beforehand he would need.

"Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," as performed by Alan Silvestri, began to play from the device, loudly sweeping colors of green and turquoise into her mind as she heard it. She stopped shaking at once, becoming stock still as she listened to the music that Stefan played. He smiled, knowing he had succeeded. 'Hark the Herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn King, Peace on Earth, and Mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled! Joyful all Ye nations rise, Join the Triumph of the Skies…'

"Pamela," Stefan said softly, not letting his own voice overtake the music, "tell me about the nightmares, please."

Pamela quivered for a moment, still not looking around at him. He green socks curled in anxiety. Then, after several seconds of silent wonder, she shifted around, slightly, one eye looking at him, and she said, "Killing people…"

Stefan noted it as she said it. "Killing people… How so? Specifics?"

"Everyone…" she whispered. "All of the fuckers who have…who have…"

"Hurt you?"

"Yes…"

'With angelic host proclaim, Christ in born, in Bethlehem!'

"How do you kill these people, Pamela?"

"I cut them," she whispered, turning more to face him now, as the colors danced around in her head. "Cut them, slice them….with glass… make them eat the glass…"

"But you would never do anything like that in real life, would you, Pamela?"

She hesitated for the briefest of moments. "Why should I?" she asked. "I am an A-Plus prodigy on this campus! My grades excel above all the others. I'm going further than anyone, dedicating myself more than anyone else! I don't need to kill anyone… I don't need to kill anyone…" She tried to convince herself of that as she looked fully around at Stefan now.

Otto Rock was sitting there, where Stefan had been. Her eyes widened.

"And you should be proud of yourself for saying that," said Rock…no, said Stefan….STEFAN!... no…God, it was Rock… "After all, Pamela… I enjoyed your body so very much…"

"What!?" she gasped, curling into a ball, looking at him in terror. She blinked several times. Stefan was Stefan, again.

"I said…" He looked nervous. "I said… it's what the best do. Overcome the worst of the worst in order to build bridges."

"R-right…" she whispered. "Of course…" She blinked. Otto Rock was back.

"Come into the back with me," he said, grinning madly, holding up a small, potted plant in one hand, and a camcorder in the other. "I want to make a video."

Pamela shook her head. "Go away," she hissed. Stefan frowned.

"Pamela?" said Stefan… said Rock…

"Leave me alone," she begged, gripping her shins tightly.

"But I want you to fuck this plant, Pamela… I want to go first, but then the plant, okay…"

Because you know, Pamela, that you enjoyed it…

"No!" she suddenly screamed, suddenly bolting for the door. Stefan watched in shock as she leapt forward. He jumped up and went after her, calling out, "Pamela, wait! Pamela!"

She sobbed as she ran down the hall, holding her head tightly in her hands, pulling at her hair as she pushed her way past several students awaiting their own counselling in the hall of Coreman's Exterior. Stefan ran as fast as he could in pursuit, desperately begging her to stop running.

"Pamela, whatever it is, we can fight it together!" he cried. "Please, Pamela!"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Pamela exclaimed, collapsing upon the floor and cradling against the wall as Otto Rock approached her. She was terrified out of her mind.

Dr. Stefan tried to comfort her, tried so hard to reach her… "Pamela, please, it's me! It's me, it's Stefan! Don't act like you don't know me, Pamela!"

"STAY AWAY!" she sobbed. "STAY AWAY!"

Stay Away, the meager little sign nailed to the pine tree commanded any and all who read it. Bruce, however, shrouded in his darkness now, stepped forward onto the private, woody property. From Portland, it had been a ninety minute drive to the coast, and another thirty to reach the no-fly coordination that Alfred had sent his GPS. Barbara and Dick both had sent in their textual wishes of luck. I'm sorry, Dick's had read. Bruce, naturally, had replied with, Someone's got to chew my ass out. I think you're pretty good at it. Keep up the good work.

From his immediate observation, the Zodiac Shire Estate was beautiful. The grass was blue, in the acres-wide entirety, and whole fields of sunflowers grew here, well kept, the smell of sweetest lavender floating on the air from the uphill slopes that led to the mighty black iron gates that surrounded the mansion of the Woodrue family. The mansion itself was a castle-worthy body, built of fine ivory-stone, three stories tall and intentionally decorated in mass amounts of ivy and budding, pink sunflowers. A massive, vertical pool ran the length of the front lawn, ending at a fountain of a statue depicting a man sitting atop a throne, holding a scepter of flowers in hand.

Standing at the edge of the property, Bruce calmly tapped into the security override tracer built into his left vambrace. Sixty-three instances of motion detecting anomalies lit up the little green screen like a Christmas tree. Thank you, Alfred. Based on this diagnostic, it was practically impossible for him to step foot onto the property without alerting Woodrue's security grid by normal, unpreparedness. Which was all well and fine. He had come prepared.

"Alfred," he said into his com-link. "I'm activating the stealth field now. I don't know how long I'll be out of touch."

"You are under orders to survive this, Master Bruce," Alfred replied firmly.

"Have a bottle of finest Oswalds to celebrate," came the cheeky reply, before he pressed the little button and, whilst disconnection from Alfred, activated the disruptor signals in his armor. Readouts on the little screen of his left vambrace suddenly shifted, with over half of the red dots blanking out one by one. The disruptor, however, had a thirty foot frequency, and only affected the sensors within that range, which meant he would have to proceed carefully.

Stepping forward, he began to run across the field, careful not to move too fast in order to give the disruptor enough time to manage the unseen detective forces. As the disruptor was not continuous, but rather range-based, the scrambling technology failed on the edge-based sensors the further Bruce moved away from them, meaning sensors behind him reactivated as her covered a certain amount of ground. But this was okay… once Woodrue was in his custody, he would not have to be so careful: the motion sensors were as they were, which were motion sensors. Security read-outs read nothing else, which meant they were merely in place to alert Woodrue to an intruder: not to deal with the intruder.

The mansion was getting closer and closer, and Bruce could feel his adrenaline pumping hard within. Most of the lights were off. This made sense. It was around five o' clock in the morning, and Woodrue would still be asleep…hopefully. Ideally. Did he live alone? Or did he have a security team somewhere on the grounds?

Up the hill and past the final set of sensors, Bruce took a deep exhale as he climbed the iron gate and sprinted across the deserted lawn. The lawn was dark, the only lights nearby the burning, electrical torches upon the exterior of the mansion, and thus he was able to blend into the darkness very easily. When he at last reached a side wall, he finally felt confident in this approach. The entry had not been as bad as he could have feared it to be… but that did not mean to let his guard down.

"Alright." He clicked his heels together, and at once, small thruster-tubes protruded out of the sides of his boots. "Alfred," he said quietly, "I'm infiltrating the mansion now. Be ready to receive access information where it warrants."

"Yes, sir. Do mind the flowers."

"Ha."

Activating a small lever on his right arm, he crouched for a moment and then leapt up. Gravity lessened by the thousandth millisecond and propelled him weightlessly upward, momentum manipulated to his needs as the anti-gravity thrusters propelled him to the highest ledge of the mansion within seconds. The balcony was deserted save for a single armchair and a small table that hosted a full cigar tray, filled with butts. He noticed, however, that one of them was still smoking.

Somewhere we here recently…very recently… Which means… Had he been spotted darting across the fields? He activated a press upon the right of his cowl, and immediately, lenses flicked down over his eyes, turning the world around him infrared. Now, with this enhanced vision, he could see the red blots moving around inside. Close, inside. As in, five red blots situated right on the other side of the tinted window where he stood…

He could not hesitate! He immediately punched a small button on his utility belt, and several pellets spilled out of the bottom of it, just as he leapt backwards, away from the balcony. The pellets exploded long before the five security forces on the other side of the window opened fire, but not too long. As their machine gun barrage obliterated the window, sending hundreds of shards of glass in every direction, the exploded pellets produced mass amounts of thick, black smoke, and at once they began to choke…

Hovering ten feet above the mansions, gravity returned slowly and he began to float down again. Bruce directed himself towards the balcony where the security forces were retching from the smoke, and slammed into the nearest one. The man fell backwards and screamed as Bruce twisted his body and grabbed another one's head, slamming it down into his knee. Machine gun fire exploded through the smoke to his right, barely missing Bruce, who aimed a kick in the direction of the assailant. The attacker went flying somewhere off to the right within the room beyond the destroyed window. Three down, two to go…

He shifted his gaze, and saw a red blot to his left, its back turned to him… He dove forward and brought the woman to the ground, landing a severe punch into the side of her head. From behind him, the last guard had spotted his location, and he quickly jumped to the right. Unfortunately for the woman he had incapacitated, this security guard's machine gun fire filled her with holes… Bruce dived forward and swept a kick, tripping the attacker up, and he proceeded to strike the man across the face with a swift kick…

His work finished, he stood and analyzed the room. Four out cold, one dead. Not exactly how he had hoped to start off this adventure…

Without hesitation anymore, Bruce bolted for the other side of the room, which seemed to be a parlor of sorts, and broke through into a lit hallway. The wallpaper was cherry red, the carpeting a vibrant jade. He analyzed the doors carefully. Two to the left, one at the end of the hall, and another three to his right. This place was huge.

"Did you get him!?" Bruce jumped at the suddenness of the voice. It was coming from the door at the end of the hall, to the left. "I don't hear anymore gunfire. Is he dead!? Who was it!?"

Bruce calmly approached the door, and without any doubt or physical hold-back, he kicked the door hard. It slammed open. The room inside was a library of sorts, three entire walls dedicated to twenty-foot shelves, thousands of differently colored books decorating them. The floor was so polished and glass-like that it could very well have served as one massive dinner plate. It was perfectly mirrored, and reflected well himself and-

"You…" came the quiet hiss. It was a hiss of disbelief…of fear…

"Jason Woodrue," Bruce acknowledged. "Good morning."

Jason Woodrue was a toothpick of a man. Skeletal skinny and looking comical in almost oversized, dark green trousers and a simple black t-shirt, his light-brown skin paled at the sight of the Batman. Dark-green eyes widened, and already wild, spikey dark hair almost seemed to stand even more up on end.

"L-leave!" Woodrue cried, backing up against one of the mighty bookshelves. He fumbled quickly for his pants pocket, but Bruce was already moving. A Batarang in hand for only a moment before the black, crescent shaped weapon soared through the air, twirling wildly at the quivering target. The pistol that Woodrue had drawn from his pocket went flying out of his hand, spinning energetically away.

A Bat with a scowl

Frail man just cannot win this

What will happen now?

"Remember, Batman… you are invading a micro-nation's worth of legal protection!" Woodrue spat, tripping over his own feet as he moved forward. He hit the floor hard, and Bruce walked slowly towards the pathetic man. This was Jason Woodrue? "S-stay back!" he whimpered, curling into a ball. "P-please, stay away…"

"You're coming back to Gotham!" Bruce growled monstrously, grabbing the man by the arm and forcing him to his feet. His hand went around the man's throat and Bruce forced Woodrue back against the shelf, sending books toppling down to bounce everywhere. "I'm bringing you back to James Gordon. You're going to answer for every murder committed in your name, by your own hands!"

"You can't! You can't!" Woodrue begged, shaking his head wildly. "No, no, no, no, no, no…. no, you cannot! I am safe! I have security!" His dark green eyes widened in fear…

Bruce frowned. Dark-green eyes? Why… why did that suddenly strike him in a funny way? There was something…odd about it… but he could not put his finger on it.

"Please," Woodrue hissed… and when he hissed, it sounded like a hiss. Like a snake' hiss… like something…not human…

Bruce frowned again. The more he looked into that man's eyes…the more something felt wrong. Dark-green eyes…

"Send me photo identification of Jason Woodrue," Bruce said into his com-link… but there came no answer from Alfred. "Hello!? Hello!? Z… Z, come in!" 'Z' was the alias agreed upon between he and Alfred when 'Batman' was in the presence of another. 'Z' was the official opposite to 'A.' "Z!?" Still no answer. Bruce looked up darkly at Woodrue, who looked sheepishly like a child… and those eyes… those eyes bothered Bruce so much.

"Let me go…" he hissed again at Bruce. Bruce popped his neck loudly. "NOW!" Woodrue screamed, his eyes widening… and that was when Bruce saw it! In the man's frustration and immediate agitation, the dark-green shifted about strangely in the sockets, and turned almost… was it bumpy?

"You're not Woodrue!" Bruce exclaimed, his grip tightening around the man's throat. Woodrue's eyebrows went up… and then he grinned.

"I'm noooooooooooooot?" he almost seemed to sing in that strange hissing of a voice. "Whatever do you meaaaaaaaaan?"

Before Bruce could say or do anything, something very sharp suddenly stung his shoulder. He let out a scream and fell forward, releasing 'Woodrue' in the process, who fell to the floor in a crumpled mess… literally! As soon as hit body hit the floor, something unnatural occurred. Woodrue's body broke apart, falling every which way into several directions worth of a dark green glob of gunk… His clothes fell into a shapeless lump as the gunk oozed, and as it did, Bruce pulled the thing that she stabbed in the shoulder out: a single, small, silvery dart, not unlike a sewing needle. He twisted around.

There, in the doorway, stood Jason Woodrue… and this time, Bruce was sure he was looking at the real deal. Dark-brown eyes… and a look of deepest confidence upon the man's face. He was dressed in a white coat, not unlike a lab coat, which seemed to be saturated in green and pink stains. Woodrue casually threw a wave up at Bruce, smirking.

"Welcome to Zodiac Shire Manor, Batman. To tell you the truth, you're a little late. Too late, I should say."

"Woodrue!" Bruce leapt forward…and immediately fell to the ground. His entire body tightened up at once, his skin turning almost stone-like. Nausea overcame him… his vision distorted…

"My apologies, Batman," Woodrue said softly, his head bent down as he twiddled the dart-gun in hand. "But I am very adamant that you join me downstairs. There is something there for you to see… and I do hope you came alone. I've been expecting a florist to come calling, you see. A florist with a penchant for murder. Tell, me, Batman…" He took a step forward. "Did Pamela Isley follow you? Because if she did not, she truly lost an opportunity to get at me. But no matter… I suspect that you'll have to do for now. I'll have to go after her, eventually… heard you were looking for her, you see…" He came to stand over the fading Bruce, who struggled to move. But he could not. Paralysis was his existence, now.

Woodrue bent down beside him, and placed a hand over the side of Bruce's head. "Can't have you coming to the main event dressed like this?" And without hesitation, he ripped the cowl from Bruce's head, exposing everything, allness in full… When Woodrue saw who was behind the cowl, his eyes widened, and the look of deepest excitement overtook his features. "Well, well, well… it seems like I've invited Bruce Wayne to my special event." He stood up and chuckled excitedly, tossing the cowl into the air and happily catching it. "This is indeed a morning I will never forget…"