When Bruce Wayne awoke from the deepest, darkest slumber, it was to the most horrible of scenarios: nightmares had meaning here. The room smelled rank, and was very dark. The dimmest of lights illuminated the scene, and the room was a metallic tomb. Odd creakings were bouncing around the walls.
He was strapped to some kind of table, bound by thick black ties. It was also apparent that he was now fully nude: they had finally managed to strip him of his armor. The table was cold against his bare skin. He could move his head, thankfully, and turned it about, trying to make sense of what he lay.
It did not take him long to identify the porthole. Beyond its shining, well-polished glass, the Pacific teemed with colorful life as vibrant fish swam by. A starfish, lavender in color, rested on the edge of the porthole.
"Hello?" Bruce called out, gritting his teeth.
Almost as soon as he said it, an alarm went off somewhere above, the light temporarily turning crimson as it let out a foghorn-like call. It lasted only for a few seconds and died down just as quickly as it had come. However, something new came just as fast. In the middle of what Bruce was realizing quickly was a mockery of a hospital ward, a blue light suddenly shot up from the floor's ventilation shaft. A shape appeared from out of thin air, forming into arms, legs and the grisly apparition of-
"AWAKE AT LAST."
Woodrue was there… and yet he was not. The hologram was very life-like, but occasionally flickered out of form for the briefest of seconds. That voice was very mechanical through this computer simulation, not as grating as it had been to hear the real thing.
"Where am I, Woodrue?" Bruce demanded, knowing better than to waste his strength trying to pull himself away.
"ON THE EVE. SPECIFICALLY, UNDER THE PACIFIC NEAR SAN FRANSISCO. WE'VE MOVED DOWN COASTLINE. I WANTED NO INTERRUPTIONS."
"Well that figures. Congratulations on doing that, too. You're actually a very well thought out man, Woodrue." Bruce meant what he said, too. Woodrue nodded.
"NATURALLY. BY NOW WOODRUE MANOR HAS GONE UNDER. IT WILL BE REBORN WHEN THE KINGDOM IS BUILT. I HAVE NO NEED OF ITS OLD SHELL. YOUR SUPER FRIEND ARRIVED… SUPERMAN… WHAT A SHAME. A MAN LIKE THAT, WITH SUCH GOD-LIKE POTENTIAL… HE WASTES HIS LIFE SERVING THE LESSERS. WITH THAT GOD'S POWER, EDEN COULD BE REALIZED, BRUCE. EDEN COULD BE APPRECIATED."
"Who knows…" Bruce smiled. "You're the scientist. If you say it, it must be true. So, why am I not dead? You did the smart thing, you got me away from where Superman could find me… but why not kill me? I denied you."
"I WAS RASH, BRUCE. I WAS SO VERY RASH. I BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS. I COULD NOT SEE BEYOND MY OWN PASSIONATE DESIRES. MY OWN PASSIONATE FURY BLINDED ME FROM TRUTH. I COULD NEVER HAVE SUPERMAN. I COULD NEVER HAVE SUCH A CREATURE. NOT UNTIL THE FINAL DAYS OF THIS EARTH. BUT I CAN HAVE YOU. I WILL HAVE YOU. I MUST HAVE YOU."
"So… what have you done, then?" Bruce sighed, and reserved himself accordingly. To acknowledge was to appreciate the circumstances. "Really… what have you done?"
"AN INJECTION OF THE NYROX POISON. HOWEVER, I NEEDED YOU TO BE AWAKE, BECAUSE THERE IS A PRE-STAGE."
"A pre-stage? You were going to kill me back in the lab, there was no pre-stage…"
"AS I TOLD YOU… MY PASSION GOT THE BETTER OF ME. I WANTED TO KILL YOU SO BADLY, IT BLINDED ME… IT BLINDED ME, BRUCE, AND I BEG YOUR FORGIVENESS. BEFORE YOU ARE GIVEN THE LETHAL INJECTION, YOU'LL NEED THE BRAIN SURGERY. I WANTED YOU TO BE CONSCIOUS FOR IT…"
Bruce's insides froze. Brain surgery? He glanced upward. Sure enough, there was a curious, dome-shaped headwear settled above, and in the middle of it… rows and rows of small-saw-like blades and needles. The Batman felt fear in that moment.
"I WILL CORRECT YOUR BRAIN. I WILL CORRECT YOUR MIND. YOU HAVE TO BE REPROGRAMMED BEFORE THE SMALL DEATH. LASETTA KNOWS THIS. AND LOOK WHAT SHE'S BECOME."
And suddenly, the entire room faded away at once. Bruce found his entire surroundings vanishing into dark, and they were suddenly being replaced by a new room entirely. He was still bound to the table, though, and he knew at once that, somehow, impossibly, Woodrue had expanded the hologram from the room in which he had broadcasted, and this was merely that extension. He was still in the same room he had awoken in… but it was hidden behind this extended hologram.
The home was lavishing. The main foyer of this spectacular mansion was beautiful. The floor was polished to pure perfection, mirroring everything above it was the strongest reflective sheen. The grand staircase was navy blue carpeted, and hanging above the hall was the most spectacular marble statue of a dragon-like creature with butterfly wings. Coy swum in a pool to the right. It was every stereotype of a rich man's castle. Above the staircase was a crimson banister that spread the room's length, upon which, in gold lettering, read RILEE.
This was the home of the Rilee family. Lasett'a home.
"I BROUGHT LASETTA HOME…"
Yes, Woodrue had. The hall was filled with bodies. Maids and butlers lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies pale with poison running in their veins. In the very middle of these, a group of four people, huddled together, dark-skinned and Latino like Lasetta… her family. They had all died together, holding each other, their poisoned faces twisted into terror, little fungi sprouts decorating their defiled corpses.
Lasetta herself knelt down beside them, gently shaking the bodies, a look of deepest confusion upon her features. She did not know what was wrong with these people. Woodrue was standing behind her, staring at Bruce.
"You had her kill her own family…?" Bruce's voice trembled with rage. "You had her murder her own family!?"
"THE RILEES PAID ME MY DEMANDS. I BROUGHT THEIR DAUGHTER BACK TO THEM, ACCORDING TO MY WORD. I AM A MAN OF MY WORD."
"Why!?" Bruce demanded, teeth gritted madly. "WHY DID YOU DO THIS!? You have nothing to gain from any of this!"
"I HAVE EVERYTHING TO GAIN FROM THIS. EVERYTHING. LASETTA IS PERFECTION. SHE IS MOTHER EARTH. SHE WILL SHOW THIS WORLD THE MEANS TO RESTORE EDEN. THE MEANS TO RESTORE MY THRONE. I SWEAR IT NOW. IT BEGAN TO WITH THE RILEES… IT WILL END WITH THE RILEES…"
"I am going to stop you," Bruce swore, and this time, foolishly, he did strain against his holds, even though it did nothing. "I am going to stop you."
Lasetta was looking up at Bruce now, scared of this shouting, angry man. She pointed at Bruce in fear, mouthing a soundless question to Woodrue, who grabbed her shoulder gently and nodded.
"THIS MAN, HERE," he told her, "IS A GOOD MAN. HE IS G-O-O-D. HE IS TO BE YOURS, LASETTA. YOU MUST LOVE HIM. HE IS CUSTOS. CAN YOU SAY C-UU-SS—T-OO-SS…?"
Lasetta opened her mouth, and her teeth gritted. "Cudddooon…." She pointed at Bruce, her expression blank yet strangely perplexed. "Cuddooonnn…."
Woodrue kissed the top of her head. "IN TIME…YOU WILL UNDERSTAND, CHILD." He looked up at Bruce. "AWAIT ME, BRUCE. AWAIT GOD. YOUR BRAIN WILL NOW BE REMOVED, AND REPROGRAMMED. GOODBYE."
Woodrue held up a little black remote, and pressed a button. At once, the room around Bruce faded, and he sunk back into his own reality, completely alone…
If only…
When the room back on the submarine rematerialized, he was greeted by a new face, who came out from the shadows with a soft smile.
"Bruce Wayne. I never would have expected this myself…" The man wore a white lab coat over what seemed to be a black, leathery sort of shirt. In the dim light, Bruce could see blonde, gelled hair. The man's skin was pale, and his eyes… his eyes weren't human. They burned…almost crimson. Orangey-crimson… "Nice touch, the hologram, isn't it?" The man admired the ventilation in the floor finely enough. "I developed it myself. Woodrue bought it for a fine price indeed. I'm planning on going with a mass marketing venture, eventually…" He turned his attention back to Bruce. "How uncomfortable is that table, there?"
Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Why reprogram the brain? That's risky. You'd risk killing the patient before the assimilation process began!"
The doctor nodded. "Oh, too true. Finally, someone with vision. Woodrue is a fine man, who grasps fine ideas… but when it comes to basic human anatomy, the man is a minus at best. He thinks with plants, not neutrons and hemispheres. Naturally, in my line of work, a broad understanding of the world is best noted…"
"What is he paying you to do this? Does it pay the bills? Does it feed the family?"
The doctor smiled, and leaned against the wall. "Does it indeed? Naturally, my income is superior to that of Jason Woodrue's. However, I'm in it for the field research… not the income." The man popped his neck loudly. "Call me Dr. W…"
"Dr. W…?"
"It's all you need to know. Let me go over details, Bruce Wayne. Woodrue will be expecting results soon."
"What details would that be?"
W smiled. "It's a simple matter of reasoning. I'd like to establish a core of truths. Inevitable truths. Basically… you and I want the same thing."
Bruce frowned. Who is this guy?
"Do tell," he implored W. W nodded.
"Do you hate this Floronic Man?"
Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Do I hate him?
"Do you wish to see him stopped? Do you wish to see him toppled? Do you wish to see that man's grand vision of a restored Eden… wiped away into nothingness as quickly as it was introduced to you?"
Bruce smiled. I see... "Naturally."
W looked content with that. "Alright, then. Then allow me the honor." And suddenly, many things happened at once. At one second, W was standing against the porthole, his arms crossed. In the next, he had sprinted forward so fast that he moved as a speeding blur. The straps binding Bruce to the table were removed, and nothing held him at bay anymore. Bruce threw himself forward, spinning away from the man who was now standing right next to the table.
"How did you do that?" Bruce was not a stranger to this kind of thing, naturally. Barry Allen, Flash of the League, could do that too… but this was different. It felt different…
W's expression was neutral at best. "Trust me, Woodrue is a pawn in a very long game of chess. The knights have been at work for so much longer."
"The knights?"
W nodded. "All you need to know is this: I am expected to deliver your body to their new base of operations within the next hour. We're off the coast of Fransisco. One of the Rilee establishments is where Woodrue is holed up, as you probably saw. There, a new laboratory is being established. However, he's abducting people by the tens from around the world. His experiments are… less than reputable at the moment. He's a distraction."
"A distraction for what, exactly?" Bruce demanded. "You're part of something else. You're part of something much bigger. I'm curious about that, too. It's in the best interest of us both to come to an understanding, don't you agree?"
"You'll know what you need to know, Bruce Wayne. However… I'll refer to you as the Batman, shall I? After all… that's who you are to me. Bruce Wayne's identity is in enough crsis already without me adding to the boiling pit."
"Woodrue will most likely share that secret with the world," Bruce noted. "It's safe to assume that Batman no longer can be."
W frowned. "Excuse me? A name changes… a man remains. A man changes… a name remains. If you look at them as separate, they will be, don't you think?"
"Is W a man… or a name?"
"As I said… how can there be a difference? A name is a man. A man is a name."
"My home will be in danger. Eventually, Woodrue will share both of my names. What happens then?"
"You're Bruce Wayne. You're one of the most influential men on the planet. One of the wealthiest, too. I suggest you use these traits to your advantage, Mr. Wayne."
"Then tell me what happens."
"All you will know, all you will be told is this: I have an interest in Woodrue's capture… but not his death. Your moral code assures the same. Therefore, the both of us have the same goal: capture, not kill."
"You want to capture Woodrue? Are you CIA? FBI?"
W smiled now. It was such a foreboding sight, too. "I'm with the CIA, sure…" He chuckled a little. Bruce knew that the man was lying. "KGB, too. FBI. Unicef. American Red Cross… take your pick."
"If I capture Woodrue," Bruce assured the man, "I take him back to Gotham and make him face justice for what he did there." His eyes bored into the crimson horrors of W, daring the man to challenge him. W did just that.
"I have an interest in Woodrue from the higher order. He is essential. Trust me… he will pay for his crimes, but through our means, our ways, not that of the corrupt, ineffective Gotham City Police Department."
"You can't take the law into your own hands," Bruce shot back.
W was looking bored now. "Cloth yourself, now." He pointed at a cabinet next to the table. "I've shut off the hologram conduit and the security cameras in this room, but if they stay off for too long, Woodrue will begin to suspect that something is up. You need to leave this submarine quickly. I can't have Woodrue terminating my contract with him just yet. My organization has an interest in his private affairs."
"You're a mole with an organization that would steal from him, perhaps?" Bruce asked W as he rifled through the cabinet. Inside, he found an old relic indeed. The diving suit was bulky, clumsily painted brown with white splotch stains, and the fiberglass helmet was dirty. This suit had not been used in years. "I thought my armor would be in here…"
"No, I destroyed your armor."
Bruce looked around, angered. "What?"
"Your defenses fell quickly enough, I assure you, so you could say you deserved it. The electro-output system in the chest-plate was drained by a device of mine called the NHZ-9 in a matter of ten seconds. Shortly after that, the suits main power supply was cut, and we were able to incinerate it without the flash-bomb grazers went off. Your suit's defense system was laughable at best…"
"If you wanted me to get out of here, why destroy the suit?"
"Because Woodrue followed us onboard. He wanted to make sure you were bound and secure before the submarine took off. He decided to watch the suit's destruction process to ensure that your armor was of no use to you anymore. I had to obey his order. After all… I'm a loyal employee who never questions his genius boss…" He laughed darkly again. "It's been interesting, showing Woodrue my deepest affections through my work. He's never had a mind quite like mine in his employment. I've advanced his botanical research by several years… it's a shame that research, and me, will be leaving his grasp very, very soon."
"You've used him to advance your research?" Bruce now turned to face W completely. "What are you planning? Who do you work for? A research organization?"
W's smile faltered. "People you don't want to make wait…"
Frowning and truly unsatisfied with the answer, Bruce had no choice but to begin suiting up. Without his suit, he had no way of making any recordings or photographic Intel on this man… and that was probably the true reason for the suit's destruction.
The diving suit was very uncomfortable and felt hot inside, grazing his skin with its tender fibers. The helmet… it was better. It smelled as if someone had died inside of it.
"So what exactly are you wanting me to do?" Bruce asked W, glaring from the other side of the fiberglass helmet, his voice muffled horribly. W stepped forward, and held out his hand. In it was a small, quarter sized device, circular shaped with what seemed to be an ear bud attachment.
"Take this with you. I want to stay in radio contact with you at all times."
Bruce held the transceiver up and examined it. It looked clean and fresh from a box.
"You should know I'm not in the habit of putting things in my ears given to me by strangers…"
"I implore you to wear it. I implore you to take advantage of it."
"It's a transceiver? Just a transceiver, huh?"
W nodded. "Connected directly to Woodrue's closest trustee."
"You."
"Me. I can help you from within. I have to study Woodrue from the right side of the fence, as per the orders from my…company. But I can ensure that when you move in, he'll be taken out easily enough."
"And how would we do this? I don't know what organization you work for. And until I do-"
"You have to leave this submarine, now," W cut across him. "I'm going to set it off. Buy you some time."
"Set it off?"
"Yes. Trust me, everything is already in motion. The closing details, then: You are dead. Officially, you are dead. Bruce Wayne is dead. His body will be found floating near the Fransisco bay-line. It will be recovered by the appropriate scavengers and a broadcast will be directed. The news will be international. Woodrue will have no reason to believe you ever survived. He'll feel safe enough to move around in the open. He'll expose his frailties. The data I need will be recovered quickly and quietly. Afterwards, I'll let you take him down… but then you'll give him to me. Is this understood?"
"This is insane. Bruce Wayne's death would be investigated by the world's top agencies. There was be pandemonium on the market. Woodrue wouldn't feel safe, stepping out into that."
"I think he will, actually." W smiled. "You see, he's a shareholder of Wayne Enterprises."
Bruce froze. His heart leapt. What!?
"Say again?"
"A shareholder of Wayne Enterprises. And not under his name, either. That would be Malachi Stevens. 'Stevens' is Woodrue's representative to the outside, his bridge between two worlds over Woodrue's head. With the announcement of your death, the board will move to elect a chairman. Stevens will move in, and place his bid. Woodrue will be keeping his eye on the market, and he'll eventually wipe away his droppings, so to speak…"
"And just how would he do that?"
"Simple. He'll ask me to do it, and I'll have no choice but to obey."
"How could you erase police evidence, exactly?"
"Again, it's simple. I have connections. The police department is no stranger field to me. I already have an inside man placed in the right position. Woodrue knows how strong my connections are. My success is at a 100 percent rating."
"And you expect me to just stand by and allow this?" Bruce stepped forward and his arm shot up, powered by years of inclination. W, however, once more astonished the former and, with impossible speed, caught Bruce's arm in its journey. W twisted the arm, and pain shot through Bruce at once. In the next moment, he was flying across the room, and he slammed against the wall. Within a second, W had sped like lightning towards him, and held him firmly against the wall.
"Now," W breathed, whispering in Bruce's ear. "Now, now, now… here's what will happen. You will follow my lead. You will move in on Woodrue when I say to move in on him. And Bruce Wayne will remain dead until I say otherwise. You will stay in contact with me via the transceiver, and you will stay out of Gotham. Do you understand me?" His voice lowered to a deathly growl. "You-will-stay-away-from-Gotham."
Bruce struggled against his hold, but could find no strength against this impossible…superhuman?
"Who-are-you?" he managed to struggled. The force of the man's hold was agonous against his ribs.
W began to check the filtration system on Bruce's air tank, and nodded in satisfaction. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out a pair of simple black sunshades, and covered his glowing eyes with them.
"Your best friend…or your worst nightmare."
He dropped Bruce to the floor, and turned away from him, proceeding towards the exit. "Follow me."
Bruce, struggling for breath and grasping his chest, pulled himself to his feet and followed after W, his heart hammering hard. The tunnel down the way was dark and narrow, and W led him right to the end of the hall, where a port door awaited them. A little red light above it indicated an insecure alignment of the locking mechanisms.
"Do I escape here?" Bruce inquired, after ensuring that the device W had given him was implanted into the ear and his helmet secured.
W responded by holding up a small black transceiver himself, and speaking into it. His voice spoke directly from Bruce's left ear: "Naturally."
And W thrust his fist into the door. It fell away at his powerful strike, and water flooded into the submarine at once. As this all happened, W held up another device, this one a small, rectangular remote, a pressed a button on it. Even as the waters swept Bruce into the wide Pacific, the transceiver in his ear gave feedback to the rushing waters and the electronic voice built into the sub's interior systems: "Systems corrupted and overheating in the main engine room. Deformation is inevitable."
Deformation…
The wide open ocean before him teemed with chaotic life. When Bruce managed to balance himself out from the rushing waters, he turned in the water and saw the submarine flashing its energetic crimson lights. The sound waves were deafening beneath this water's surface, and breathing in this compressed space was difficult.
"Swim…" The voice inside of his ear had returned. "Now."
"Where are you!?" Bruce demanded.
"Swim," W repeated, and the line went dead.
Bruce sighed. He swum.
Minutes later, the submarine vanished in its inevitable deformation…
"Deformation of the old cultural myths, that being that the old snake, Berlow, cast aside his need for knowledge and power, highlighted a rise to the modern writings of Chancellor Vancouver and Richard Vict. Both of them were highly inspired by the Golden Age of Uncellorism, as it was named in the times of-"
Octus Mischo's voice faded into silence in Pamela's head. She was not taking notes anyway. Her paper was filled in doodles. She would forever regret letting her American Literature obligation expand out for as long as it had. Therefore, Literature was merely her art class. On the page, flowers dotted the lines and margins, each one a different color of the world spectrum. She scribbled away excitedly, dotting thorns and scratching in vines. Vines were special, as were the thorns. Both were needed for an effective flower to flourish in Nature. She believed this so that her arms were fully decorated in marker-based vines, drawn elaborately across her skin in shining green. As for the thorns, she had found some exciting spiked bracelets at the Gotham Excellaorium, the base black, the spikes red. Slowly but surely, she was discovering the look for a new identity. With a new name, with a new meaning, there had to be a new look. Outlook, inlook, look, look, look…
Arting her only true presence in the room, she was hardly giving regards to the stares and glances. It had been a week since Porda-Bay. The missing police officer on campus and student to match had been a topic of greatest gossip on school grounds. One very liked student and one very disliked officer… the balance was talk-worthy even for the less practices of gossip and rumor-fucking, as Pamela liked to call it. However, no rumors were directed at her. No, they stared at her for another reason entirely.
Every morning, Pamela would douse herself in the Garde'. This was the name that she had adopted for the pheromone spray. It was, admittedly, most likely gibberish (she had read something about the word being an obsolete form of "guard"), but to her, the name was "cool" and "out there" and "shut up, Alissa, like you could think of better…" The Garde' was subtle in its rapture of human souls about Gotham University. Men and women alike would pick up on its silent whispers of passion and longing, and their eyes would eventually lock onto the source. The majestic redhead in the tight green tanktop and dark, tight, short shorts, whose arms were adorned in green marker vines, whose wrists bore spiked gauntlets… that strange, attractive wonder of a woman, whose scent was perfection and whose body was needed for ocular harvest.
Now, she was the center of the world for entirely better reasons than ever before. Their eyes worshipped her. They undressed her and fucked her with irises, and salivated with pupils. And all of this she recorded in her little green notebook, noting each person's reaction and sometimes recording the lengths of such unasked for sessions. When they came to speak with her, she regarded them with silence and ignorance, breathing their hearts with silent rejection. But she stayed her sword hand.
It had not been only a week since Porda-Bay, but also a week since her last murder. The waitress, Beverly, had been the last killing ( a bitter though, Pamela strangely found). She had slaughtered Beverly to prove a point to Alissa: that when she was asked to do something, she must do it. Alissa's response had been predictable enough: utter silence… and utter shock. Alissa was a weak, stupid little fragile git with no stomach for the real world that was descending upon them. She hated Alissa… and yet Alissa was the friend who had tried to stand beside her, and who even now protected her from imprisonment, and worse. Thus, Alissa would be blessed in time with a true inauguration into discipleship. It would just have to take time.
In preparation for this coming time, Pamela had, of course, been taking the needed steps towards the mental and spiritual transformation that would come. She and Alissa spent most days together, a tight bunch with tighter secrets. They ate out every night. Between the money taken off of Kevin, Patterson, Beverly and the Porda-Bay diner register (before Pamela had burned it, and Beverly's body, to the ground), the two of them were finally in appropriate positions of thriving in a merciless world. They could eat out every night because Mother Earth had given them their rewards for obedience, as Pamela was slowly explaining to a quiet Alissa. And Alissa enjoyed herself well on the expensive shopping trips, movie theater excursions and restaurants of the finest steak and healthiest clam-cakes. The façade was evident… the illusion compatible with Pamela's genuine outlook.
And so, when Pamela met with Dr. Stefan after weeks of skipping out on his sessions, she strode into his office with a sense of pride in her movement and confidence in her smile. The receptionist, Tweeley, looked less than impressed with this legendary troublemaker, but Pamela merely blew him a kiss with a pretty birdie and awed her way to her doctor.
"Pamela… where have you been?" was Stefan's first, and certainly predictable, question. Pamela, smiling, kicked off her black ballet flats and rested her green stocking clad feet across the man's coffee table. He frowned, but said nothing about this as she threw her arms back behind her head and answered, "Living."
"Living. I admire that. Living is an admirable goal, a fine quest indeed. I live every day to help people in need, people who have seen the worst and at times been the worst. I admit I've missed you."
"I'd miss me too," Pamela agreed, gazing dreamily at the ceiling. It had recently been painted like the solar system, and amassed a barrage of colored planets, stars and nebulas. Earth, of course, was the most beautiful planet of all. So much green. "I'd miss me so much, Stefan, you've no idea."
"I've wanted to see how you were doing," Stefan said quietly, sipping from his mug of coffee. "Ever since you told me what happened, and how you reacted to it, I've been really concerned about-"
"Have you ever noticed," Pamela cut across him, "that when you look at the Earth, it really does have more green than blue?"
"I- well, actually, there's more blue than-"
"Well, actually," Pamela cut across him again, "the oceans, the seas… think of all that turquoise. Turquoise needs green to exist, Stefan. Green is always an essential part of life, to give things its color and keep it recognized."
Stefan wiped his head of its flowing sweat. He managed a small smile. "You got me. You have a very unique sense of sight, Pamela."
"Ivy."
"I beg pardon?"
Pamela gave him a glower. "Call me by my name. My name is Ivy."
"I-Ivy?" Stefan tilted his head. "You're thinking about changing your name?"
"I have changed my name… or rather, I started using my name at last." She gazed up at the ceiling again, and beheld her arms so that he could see the marker. "I am Ivy. I am Venus. I am Ivy… call me Ivy, Stefan… I don't want to be called Pamela anymore… that name is dead."
"Pam-"
"Ivy!"
Stefan swallowed. "Ivy… Ivy, your original name was beautiful. I like the name Pamela. It's very flower-like. You know there's a flower in South African called the-"
"Pameleon dyberflap. Yes, I do, Stefan. A herbal flower, has green petals and red star-like spots within… Call me Ivy. And don't ever call me Pamela again."
"A-alright…Ivy. I'm sorry."
"You should be."
"Indeed… so, Ivy… I need to know how you've gotten along."
"I'm fine," Pamela said, grinning. "Stefan, I've never been happier in my entire life." She hugged herself joyfully. "I'm in love."
Stefan beamed, looking happy for her. "Indeed? Tell me, quickly!"
"Oh, she's so beautiful. I've never met anyone else like her."
"Um-hm…" Stefan was taking notes. "You have a girlfriend?"
"I'd call her…soul-mate. She is the breath in the morning, and the white sand that gives the crashing shore meaning. She has no flaws. She is perfection in every way…"
Stefan had stopped writing, and was looking intently at Pamela. "Very poetic."
"I must be, when referring to the goddess…"
"The…goddess? Is that your name for her, or is her legal name 'Goddess'?"
"I'm referring to myself, dipshit." Pamela's grin faded at once and she straightened up, shaking her head. "Seriously, you've jello for brains."
Stefan blushed fiercely. "I'm sorry, I-"
"I've learned to appreciate myself, Stefan. I've grown. I've evolved. I see myself as the superior being that I am, and I am not afraid of what life has to throw in my face anymore. I have come to learn the meaning of salvation. I have found it through my love of nature, Stefan. I have put the bad behind me… because the solution was always sitting right there in front of me."
"The solution?"
"Yes. The solution to all of my problems."
"And what is that, Ivy?"
Pamela grinned. "Knowing that deep down… I won. I woke up. I kept on going to school. I made great grades. I made new friends. And I learned to stand up to my enemies. I show them no submission. I feel stronger than ever before."
"That's wonderful, Pamela…"
"So I don't think I need to come back to see you anymore."
"Well…" Stefan bit his lip uncomfortably. "Pam- I mean Ivy… that's something that has to be decided by the board. And I still feel like we should meet for a while longer. What you've been through has long lasting impacts on the smallest of things. It's my job, my obligation, to see you completely through it."
"Don't you see, though!? All of the sessions, all of the mind games… they were wasted. Wasted because I could never see myself for myself, wasted because I was always afraid of the little redheaded freak who everyone called crazy. But I know better now. I know better than anyone. I'm not crazy. I'm not a freak. I'm…perfect." She sat back against the couch and exhaled deeply. "I appreciate what you want to do, Stefan, but…" She pressed down hard on her leg. The pheromones from the hidden canister under her shorts sent out the pressurized jet. "…I just…don't want to come back anymore. Would you…free me?" She stroked her leg slowly, her lips parted.
His clipboard fell from his hands. She stood up, and gently walked over to him, sitting within his lap and holding him close against her, letting him take in a strong dose of the Garde'.
"I…yes…oh, yes…"
"Oh, yes?" she whispered, and she kissed him. He tasted nice enough, pepperminty and clean. "Yes?" Another, longer kiss.
Yes… say yes… you know you can't not say it…
"Yes…" Stefan moaned, his eyes wide and dazed. Pamela grinned, and kissed him a third time, going all out in ravenous assurance of her control over his mind. The pheromones pumped out… the articles of clothing became obsolete for the moment. Because when she had control, she could make them do anything. And she had her ways to assure victory…
This is getting too easy….