Pamela sat gazing over the massive tank before her, watching the water shutter violently as the two ton bull shark within ("the Neptune," as Wesker had put it before taking off for the night) thrashed about, snapping at the reinforced glass lid of its grand prison. The creature moved with its own grace, its own form. It held no master: it itself was the master of its operations and beyond. Within that tank, it was merely an abductee, not a slave, and defied its mutilators with stubborn refusal against when they wanted it to eat, what it would eat and whether pacification jolts would apply to its rest.

It was king. It was lord.

She was a queen. She was a goddess. She was a mere abductee, but not a slave to Wesker. And she would show him that, in time. His parting words had been, "Business has come up. I'm going to have to leave for the night, but I'll return in the morning. We can discuss your future at this corporation.

Who did he think he was kidding? She was a master manipulator, and a romantic in nature. She was no fool. A business meeting did not require Elderwood #94, a potent mixture of lavender and honeysuckle. A business meeting did not call for as much care as had been put into his hidden corsage (Fireberry rose), or his overly confident stride, which had all been not existed until that point. She knew the look of a man who was going to rendezvous with a woman. She had seduced many victims who had displayed such prominent rituals. They had all died smelling of intensified hormones and flowers. The scent of desire. The scent that Wesker had left with.

With Woodrue's mutations had come many benefits: enhanced sensory was one of them. Subtle detections of biological signals enabled her to know many things.

The man clearly has no social life. You saw the way he struts about the place, Pamela. You saw how…religious he was about his position. He needs a woman in his life.

Sure he did. Of course he did. But she was his guest… and she had needs. She glanced up. A scrawny little man in a lab coat was working on the other side of the chamber, recording data on the filtration system of the shark tank. His back was to her. How vulnerable he was. She could move quietly. Her arms would be entwined around his neck in seconds, vines that they were. Her lips would kill him stone dead in even less seconds, crippling his organs from within…

But she could not. She had all the power in the world, and she could not use it, because Wesker wanted to use her against Woodrue. He wanted to give her opportunities, but if she harmed any of his staff…

Harmed is the key word, Pamela. Seduction is its own entity. Suggestion is another.

But did she want to kill? Did she need to kill? Stuck here, she could not do Mother Earth's work. She could not act as Nature's bounty hunter, not here. And what of Alissa? Was she dead? How was Pamela to know if Alissa was fulfilling the will of the earth…? She needed to get Wesker talking, and soon. Then, she could kill him once she had the information that she needed. She would slaughter everyone here, including…

Him…

Through a door behind her fantasy victim came a newcomer: Bruce Wayne. When he came through the door, he saw Pamela sitting near the shark tank, and a dark expression came upon him at once. The time for confrontation had come, she sensed.

Bruce began his venture, and she hers, stepping lightly but confidently. A single raise of an arm and a smile to go along with it.

"Bruce Wayne… did you come looking just for me?" she whispered passionately, in her most seductive draw. She knew she would have little influence over him in her current state… but accidents happen.

He stood before her, glaring uncomfortably. Then, taking a seat upon the floor, he said softly, "Let's talk."

"Let's," Pamela agreed, shifting around to face him. She tapped her lips lightly, smiling, and said softly, "Batman."

"Poison Ivy." Bruce nodded. "Are you allowed to disclose the details? What you and W were talking about?"

"Who is to say, Bruce…?" She stretched across the floor, sprawl-legged and gazing longingly at him. "If I decide to tell you what we talked about, it will be on my own terms, not his."

"He's filling your head with deception," Bruce said at once. "Lies, Pamela. He's promised you something big. It's why you're still around. This man is a researcher of…something unethical. I've seen the creatures, Isley."

"Ivy."

"And furthermore," Bruce continued, firmly, "I'm going to need your help in escaping. He's taken to you. I believe he can be deceived if by the right people. Namely, you."

"Sounds fun," Pamela laughed, prodding the baby leaves that were freshly sprouting from her wrists. They had begun to grow that afternoon, at last, in place of the ones she had lost during Joker and Woodrue's assault on the greenhouse. Wesker had taken such interest in her biology… "I intend to escape, Bruce Wayne. But not with you, and certainly not without compensation for my false imprisonment."

"False imprisonment? Is that what you think this is, Isley?"

"Ivy!" Pamela snapped, her eye twitching. "Stop calling me by-"

"Listen to me…" Bruce's voice was cold and deadly. "I will hunt you. If you escape this facility without me, I will hunt you down. I will make it my life's work to do so. I swear that to you. You're going to be returned to Gotham, to face justice for your crimes. I'm sure the courts will agree that Arkham is suitable for someone like you… and I can help with that. I have influence. But if you try to escape without me… if you try to resist my attempts to return you to Gotham… you will know hell."

"All of you big, strong men kidnapping defenseless old me… I'm touched." She snickered and blew him a kiss. "You just can't keep your hands off of me… can you, Bruce? Escape, with you? Sounds like you're a hoarder, that you want me all to yourself." She winked. "I admire that in a man. I admire initiative." She tenderly began to stroke her leg.

Bruce averted his eyes at once, catching onto her game quickly. "I'm prepared to offer you an easier time on the surface. I'm prepared to help you find a place. If it's in Arkham, so be it, but it will be a place nonetheless. Habitable and ethical. I offer you an easier time with cooperation than you would get without it. How many lives have you taken, Ivy? How many families have you destroyed? The people of Gotham will be very unforgiving…"

"I imagine so. I imagine the human population feels contempt for their lost souls, for their pruned weeds. But do I regret it? Do I fear their wrath? No. I relish in it." She pulled at the waistline of her pants lightly. "I relish in my accomplishments. I feel Mother's love when I acknowledge that we near New Eden, one day after another. New Eden is essential to the Earth. And you…" She exhaled deeply. "…you, Batman, should understand that. Bruce Wayne, a billionaire dedicated to the eradication of injustice. Someone like you should be on my side, fighting for the weak and defenseless, as I do. Yes… plants are weak, compared to human beings. Their strength comes from time, and modern sorcery. That is why I am needed, to defend them…"

"Murder is your way, Pamela Isley, not mine."

Pamela winced again… but she found that he would keep calling her by that false name, and thus, she decided to take her own initiative.

"Murder isn't your way, Bruce? Is it really not? Have you forgotten the first time we actually met?"

"Yes, I remember. I intended you to stay behind bars after-"

"No, no, dear. No. The first time you met Pamela Isley, as you so love to put it, not Poison Ivy. Do you remember that?"

Bruce looked at her, frowning. "No."

"Of course you don't. Someone like me, a radical environmentalist college liberal meant nothing to a god-like being such as billionaire Bruce Wayne. But the first time we truly met each other, Bruce… it was acknowledging that you were a murderer."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you what, Bruce… I offer you a chance. I'll tell you what I mean, if you tell me just how this man, this…W… has kept the Batman, of all souls, under his leash."

Bruce was stunned, his eye twitching. He looked pale and his eyes went away from her. Pamela's heart leapt. She had hit him hard.

"You really want to know, Pamela?"

STOP CALLING ME THAT. "Y-yes, I do." She laid on her side, watching him closely. Bruce actually smiled. A soft, sad smile.

"It only makes sense that you know, doesn't it? Because in the end, you'll end up just like me, won't you?"

He turned fully to her now. "Do you see the wristband here? You and I share them. You already know what they are, what they do… but this wristband is not what holds me captive, Ivy. It's something far worse."

"What is that? Tell me… tell me why the Batman serves Dr. W, and I'll remind you of our first meeting."

Bruce nodded. "See for yourself… because soon, you may very well have one of your own." And he pulled down his shirt, to show her his chest. What she saw there mystified her.

There was a device attached to his chest. It looked like some oddly shaped beetle, a central crimson orb-like thing acting as the base. Catheters were attached from the device into Bruce's body, pumping some sort of black chemical into him. Through the transparent crimson sphere, she could see little mechanical bits, cogwheels and mini-pistons, working relentlessly within.

"He calls it P30," Bruce told her, clenching his fist. "Says it's short for Progenitor. This chemical… it's pumping into me continuously. Every time he gives me a command… I'm obligated to follow it through. Once he tells me to do something, I cannot disobey. It is physically impossible. You should be aware of this P30, Ivy… because with your abilities, and your intellect, I imagine he'll do the same to you." He released his shirt, and the device was hidden from sight once more.

Pamela could only continue to stare at the spot on his shirt where, even now, she realized had been slightly bulging the whole time. She gazed back into Bruce's eyes… and then smiled.

"Amazing," she whispered. "He can brainwash you at will?"

Bruce nodded. "This device takes over when he wishes. I don't know how it works. Perhaps he has a remote that injects the chemical in a strong dosage when he needs to control me, and has its base chemical pumped continually into my body, so that I am always ready for an immediate session of control… but every time he gives me a command, I cannot for the life of me disobey. He had me rescue you during Woodrue and Joker's attack… he's had me visit facilities around the country for a year now, demonstrating my effectiveness as a bodyguard and enforcer. These facilities are controlled by the Umbrella Corporation, Ivy. They don't have an interest in the common good. Their experimentations are a danger to the public. But I… I demonstrate pure loyalty to them under the influence of this chemical. I've thrown away my ideals, my oaths… things about myself, gone, instantly. My memories, they're blurry. Every day, I feel like I'm going to lose the past. Maybe I already have. Sometimes I even forget that I am Bruce Wayne, let alone Batman, the scourge of Gotham… I don't even know where this facility is at. All of this…because W has me under his leash, as you say."

"And that's wonderful… for you…" But now Bruce could see genuine fear in her face, as had been his hope. She was suddenly realized the truth in that moment, despite how "wonderful" she wanted it to be… "It's… it's really…" Her voice shook. "But…"

"Face it, Ivy: he'll do the same to you. He'll take away from you your love for plants. He'll make you sacrifice them for the sake of his research. He'll force you to go against everything you believe in, everything you have sworn yourself to. And you will follow him without hesitation. You will obsess over following him. You will obsess over serving every contradictory word he speaks. A brainwashed slave… and eventually, we'll both be disposed of. You can see it in him: he knows. He sees. We serve a purpose… and afterwards, nothing. Tools wear out, in the end."

Pamela turned away from him now. She could no longer summon the willpower to seduce him. She felt…violated somehow. Disgusted. Wesker… what did he intend to do? What did he intend to do to her? Would he really make her into a brainwashed slave, a tool that had no free will of its own, and force her to violate everything that she stood for?

Would he… would he use me and dispose of me once he was finished?

"Now, I've told you the truth, Ivy," Bruce said. "What about you? When did we first meet? Talk to me, Ivy. Talk to me and trust me. In this place… all you have is me."

But now she could not speak to him. Not at all. How could she trust him, and how could she feel comfort? There was none to be had. Out of panic, she gasped loudly and leapt up, moving away from him at once. Bruce jumped to his feet, coming after her.

"Ivy! You have to talk to me. You have to trust me!"

"Leave me alone!" Ivy cried, shaking. The researcher on duty in the chamber looked around wildly, watching as Bruce pursued Pamela out to the corridor. "Just leave me alone!"

"All you have in this place is me!" Bruce cried. "All you have is me!"

"Remember," Bruce Wayne said to the assembled crowd, who cheered and cried as he walked onto the stage. "All you have is me. Me, the man who will lead you into revolutionary changes in modern energy, with my company at my side, diligently working to perfect new sources of life not only in South America, but also, in the coming years, right here in America…"

As Wayne prattled on about the new energy source, derived from the corpses of the flora that he would destroy in making, Pamela stood in fury at the back of the crowd, hating them all…wanting to murder them all…

Woodrue stood beside her, shaking his head in disgust, as a large crowd of young men and women behind him waved signs of protest, shouting at the top of their lungs. The Bludhaven police stood close by, looking prepared to step in at the first sign of chaos. As she observed the protesters at their ranks, dedicatedly throwing out foul words, hand motions and spewing off basic facts of science, Pamela felt within her a certain repulsion. These protesters had no clue what they were fighting for. They came dressed in the stereotypical attire of what was expected of environmentalists: sandals and crop tops, flowers and hipster rims, all waving about signs that bellowed in colorful lettering Save the Trees, Make Wayne Leave (s) or Get The Fuck Out Of South America Corporate Swine… Many more of them would sing songs together, joined hand in hand, about saving the environment or preserving nature from the ruthless hands of the big wigs who would sew their future from the corpses of plants… These people she hated. All of them. Every last stupid protester. She hated them far worse than she did Wayne or the people who were actually threatening the planet, and there was only one reason why: they were useless.

How was a sign with some rough catchphrase going to save the planet?

How was a song of harmony going to make a difference?

These people would bellow for a few more hours, and then go home and go about the rest of their days without another regard to Mother Earth. The public will have seen their example, and the media will praise them for doing absolutely nothing.

These people are disgusting…

At least Wayne was actually going to do something about his agenda. It was murder, but damn it, he was going to do something. These protesters who supposedly represented her world… in her ideal world, they would be the first sacrifices to her plants.

"Aren't they revolting?" she asked Woodrue quietly, studying the crowd of protesters with venomous desire to kill. Woodrue noticed where she was looking, and nodded slowly, smiling softly.

"Of course they are. These young people need a more subtle approach."

"Subtle?" She popped her neck loudly. "Subtle, Woodrue? No. No. They need to do something. That is why they are revolting. There is no action to them. No fire. They live out of expectation from others. They will not act. They will not make a move. Someone here, if they truly believed in the planet, would do what was essential."

"And what is essential, Ivy?" Woodrue studied her intently, curiously brushing his hair with his hand, his eyes glistening. "Tell me, what would you do to make a difference at today's rally?"

"Simple. I would kill Bruce Wayne."

"Come again?" His voice became softer. Pamela just did not care. She repeated her solution to him, and when he heard it, he nodded again, more slowly this time, taking in her words with definitive care. "I see. And you believe that something of that nature would make the difference, Ivy?"

"I know it would," yawned Pamela, motioning for him to follow. She wanted to get away from the noise of the protesters and the cheering crowd of Wayne supporters alike. They were all getting on her nerves, and she may very well go off on them. She had a gun in her pocket. The Glock 26 felt inviting against her leg. As drizzle began to lightly come down, she felt the need to saturate the ground in the blood of so many people… When she and Woodrue (who was still studying her very intently, silently stroking the side of his head) had gone off some ways, she turned to him and stared him in the eyes, saying, "I would put a bullet in his head. I would poison his coffee, or place a bomb inside of his car. I would have him stabbed in the back of the neck, his throat slit, or have him thrown off of a bridge." She smiled a little, sitting down on a park bench. Woodrue, however, continued to stand, not able to take his eyes away from her. She sighed, shaking her head. "The things a girl ponders in the face of necessity. You tell me, Jason… do any of my solutions that I have named sound any less practical than what your cult of protesters will?"

Woodrue pondered her question quietly, now turning away from her (something that few men would do after being named the list of alternatives that she so religiously suggested for Bruce Wayne's ultimate fate) and studied the man himself on the distant stage. She followed his gaze.

Tall and mighty, muscular and handsome, Bruce Wayne was just…perfect. He could have any man or woman he wanted, depending on how he swung, and he had the money to back it up. He was a god in a suit, with the influence of a nation's leader. A billionaire with no limits. On that stage, his aura, his very air was fierce and divine indeed, as he rallied people to this new cause, to destroy a deadly plant species in exchange for energy to be distributed in the form of an underground system of waterways and a dam… His funding was the word of whatever god he professed to be.

Woodrue finally turned back to her, and said, "Your solutions are more practical than anyone else's." Pamela nodded, her expression cold and empty.

"But dear Jason Woodrue… do either of us have the drive? Do either of us have the willingness to do what is necessary?" She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a wooden flask, from which she took a strong swig of Firebreath whiskey in her attempt to drown out her acknowledgment of the people in this square. She offered it to Woodrue, who took it without question and downed a large amount of it quickly. "Hey, be conservative," she demanded, gesturing for him to return it… but Woodrue smiled, and did not hand it back.

"I have the drive, Ivy," he told her softly, shaking the flask before her. "I can take initiative."

"Is that right?" Her eyes narrowed as she stood to confront him, her hand still outstretched. Woodrue was admiring her now, her eyes studying her closely, from her long, flowing crimson curls to her rosy face and glistening lips.

"I'll tell you what, Pamela…" His voice was barely above a whisper now, and he glanced in Wayne's direction again. "I want you to demonstrate what you're willing to do. Show me some action. Hurt someone. Anyone. I don't care who you hurt. But no Wayne, obviously: his security would bring you down before you could even dream of getting close to him. But I want to see your willingness. Threaten someone. Hit someone in the head. Make them fear going against Mother Earth, make them fear going against you."

His eyes gleamed confidently as he said it, his smile reassuringly kind. Pamela had never met anyone like this man. He spoke comfortably, despite the subject matter, and his air about him was so inviting, so calming. She felt safe in that moment, a genuine contribution of protection from him. There was no denying how handsome he was, either. He was a very good-looking man with an air of confidence that was so…attractive. And his smell, so sweet and lavender-like… She felt that if she did show him what he wanted to see, he somehow would not judge her.

Does he see as I do? Does he understand the length to what must be done?

She fingered the necklace around her neck. Well, if he did not, she could deal with him…

"You want to see what I'm willing to do, Jason?" she cooed, coming up to him and reaching out a hand. Her fingers lightly brushed his cheek, and Woodrue nodded. She snatched the flask out of his hand, and downed another large gulp, her eyes closing for a moment as she felt its power. Putting the flask away, she got herself under control and gave him a thumbs up, silently scanning the crowd of Wayne's supporters. One of them caught her eye, a skinny little nobody in cargo shorts and a wife-beater, his wide-brimmed "thug" hat bouncing up and down as he cried out in approval of Wayne's "job opportunities under a special sanction of Wayne Enterprises will increased local productivity in the East Walli village by…"

"Let me show the solution, Mr. Woodrue," Pamela enticed her teacher. "Let me show you how to deal with the enemies of nature."

Woodrue looked amused. "I'm sure that by the end of this lesson, the violator will have learned a valuable lesson. I'll observe."

He hovered behind her as she made her move, tapping the man on the shoulder as she fumbled with the chain necklace around her neck. Attached to the ends were two small bottles, both with spray nozzles: one was filled with a bright pink liquid, the other with a pure black substance.

"Hm?" When the man turned, he was surprised to see such a beauty standing before him, and he smiled. "What's up?"

"Oh, much," Pamela said enthusiastically, holding up the small bottle of pink spray before him and releasing a blast of pheromones into his face. At once, whatever mirth had been in the man's face amplified considerably as the pheromones overtook him, and his expression became dumb. He muttered, "Oh, wow…" as she beamed from him to Woodrue, who was frowning at the little bottle in her hand. She wrapped her arm around the man's neck, and whispered, "Follow me, lover…"

"Oh, yeah…" the man moaned, nearly tripping over himself as Pamela merrily skipped ahead, giggling uncharacteristically as she motioned for them both to follow her, Woodrue studying the man now, intently. He was chuckling himself, the boy, his head spinning about as he chased after Pamela, begging for her to come back, hissing at her that he loved her… that he loved her? Whatever she had done to him, Woodrue could feel a victorious air about it.

Pamela led the young man into a nearby alleyway, and Woodrue was glad for the distraction of the nearby police: none of them seemed to notice the three people quickly sinking away into the alley between the local dentist's office and the abandoned apartment complex.

"Come on now, right this way!" Pamela called out in an almost babying like way, and she let one hand tenderly slide down her leg, enticing the man into a full sprint, his breathing intensifying at once. When they had doubled around to a dead end, tucked away in a private little alley that led to a tall, wooden fence, Pamela turned around and swept the man into her arms, stroking his face tenderly and smiling deeply as she gazed into his eyes. Woodrue leaned against the wall and observed. "You're so vulnerable," she whispered to the boy. "You're so very vulnerable. Enslaved. Enraptured. You are truly worthless, aren't you?"

"Yes… yes I am… for you… whatever you wish…" His hands were gripping her shoulders tightly and he was shaking. Pamela, meanwhile, was removing her coat. The light green tank top that she wore beneath hugged her body tightly, and she allowed the intoxicated man to grope at her, giggling uncontrollably as his breathing got more and more out of control…

"See this?" she called out to Jason, as the man began to claw at her, displaying no desire to deviate from his public display of affection. "Do you see, Jason? He is mine. He belongs to me. He is my slave. He will worship me. He will do anything for me." She held the man's face upward, holding him by the chin, smiling. "Won't you?" she whispered, kissing his lips.

"Y-y-y-yes…" the man breathed, his disorientation otherworldly. Woodrue was watching in pure fascination. He had taken his cellular phone out of his pocket, and was recording every detail.

"Would you die for me?" she whispered, her fingers wrapping around his throat. The man did not seem to notice.

"Y-y-yes!" the man insisted, giggling madly, closing in to kiss her again-

"Then die." Pamela held up the other bottle now, the one filled with the black substance, and sprayed the stuff directly into his open mouth. The effect was almost instantaneous. Battered, overwhelming lust suddenly became horror as the man retched loudly, his hands clawing as he grabbed at his face, and Pamela forced him against the wall, the fingers she had placed around his throat constricting now into a full out strangle. Woodrue seemed transfixed, lost in what he was witnessing…

The man was gagging loudly, his tongue sticking out as he choked… and it had turned black. Pamela was laughing, a mad sound of mirth and excitement, as she strangled the obviously poisoned man to death, her eyes bulging wildly as she whipped her crimson hair about her face, her teeth gnashed in almost demented satisfaction…

"This," she called back to Woodrue, "is how you deal with your enemies!"

The man went limp, and slid down to the ground, becoming quite still, empty eyes staring up at their murderess. Pamela exhaled deeply, brushing her hair out of her face as she beamed around at Woodrue, a smile of pure joy on her ruby lips. She gestured at the man's body, her eyes narrowed as she took in Woodrue's transfixed state.

"Do you see now?" she asked him calmly, kicking the man's body fiercely. He toppled over onto his face, and she took a step forward, walking on top of the man's corpse as if he were a rug. "I know the truth, Jason. I know the method. The solution to the human problem that has for so long plagued this Earth." She stepped onto the man's head and then left him there, walking back over to Jason, whose phone hand hung limply at his side, his eyes wide… but not with fear. Instead, with awe. He could not hide the expression of fascination as he looked from Pamela to the dead man and back to Pamela. "This is the solution, Jason Woodrue," she insisted, taking out the flask again. She drunk deeply again, and decided to hand the remainder of the drink to Woodrue, who took it without a word and drained the flask.

When he finally handed the empty flask back to her, his words trembled as he said, "You… you just killed the man. Just like that." He walked over to the man's body, and turned him over, crouching down to examine him. The interior of the mouth was completely blackened. The poison, whatever it had been, had spread quickly and widely, saturating his gums and teeth, corroding the throat and overtaking the veins. "A toxin. A special toxin, too…" He took out his car keys, jingling them to find a tiny little silver flashlight, and lit up the interior of the victim's mouth to see the poison more clearly. "The smell of it… something like hemlock, but… but it's been altered. There's another chemical in there… Rionus, perhaps…" He was muttering to himself as though she were no longer there, examining the body as one would during an official autopsy. She could only stand and admire him, feeling an odd sense of peace wash over her.

She had so…easily demonstrated her willingness to fight for the planet. She had shown little hesitation, little fear. For all that she knew, he could have attacked her and brought her to the police, or else tried to kill her for the murder that she had committed. But he, like Alissa, had only stood, admired, and ultimately accepted… She had trusted him completely. There was something about him that made her feel so safe and secure. Why!? Why had she just…trusted him like that? Why had she been so eager to demonstrate herself to him?

Because he's One. An Ascended. He is One of the Chosen for the new Eden… this is Mother Earth's way of telling you. He can help you, Pamela. He is an answer. A solution. Far more than Alissa ever could be…

Alissa…

She looked upon Jason Woodrue with the same love and admiration that she had for Alissa. The same acceptance. He was another one, was he not? Another future protector and citizens of the Eden she envisioned?

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Woodrue stood to his feet, and when he turned to face Pamela, he was smiling. His smile brought an odd sensation into her stomach.

"I've seen enough to know you, now, Ivy." And he bowed to her. "You truly love this planet, don't you?"

"Yes…" Pamela breathed. Woodrue took a step closer to her, and she backed up to the wall of the building. The man's corpse lay forgotten by both. Woodrue closed the gap between them quickly, throwing out his arms to either side of her, pinning his hands against the wall as he trapped her between him and it. Her heart began to thunder as he leaned in close, taking in her perfume deeply…

"J-J-Jason?" she whispered, her lips trembling.

He bent his head down, his lips inches from her neck.

"I can help you," he whispered.

Her eyes widened. "W-what?"

"You…and I… the two of us, Ivy… Imagine what we could do. Imagine what we could be capable of."

"Y-yeah? What is that?" she whispered back, her heart hammering very hard, feeling a fire growing inside of her. Woodrue closed his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace, and she began to panic, breathing out of control as he held her there, the two of them alone in that alley as the drizzle became true rain.

"You're perfect," he whispered into her ear, and her heart broke. Her mind snapped. Her world fell away. She was descending down, down, down into some unknown chasm of the deepest, purest joy…

"Say it again," she plead, her fingers clawing into his back.

"You are perfect," Woodrue repeated. "Ivy. That name is so fitting. That name suits you. Don't forget its meaning. It has a promise behind it, and I see no problem with you not fulfilling that promise. You are poison, Ivy."

"Poison Ivy," she whispered back, closing her eyes as some private ecstasy rained down upon her, almost as if it had mixed physically with the water that cascaded down upon them in that moment.

"Poison Ivy, yes… your true name. Your true calling. I wish to know more of her. I wish to know more of Poison Ivy, and I wish to know what she's going to do next. How far she'll go. Because I want to help her. I want to know Poison Ivy."

She physically broke in that moment, overwhelmed by fierce desires and an aching heart. She sat there upon the ground, the rain pounding down upon her as if baptizing her. She was grinning. Laughing. Her laughter became fierce and unhinged, until she had thrown her head up, positively screaming…positively howling with laughter…

And Woodrue? Woodrue had a savage smile upon his face, too, his eyes narrowed.

"You want to know Poison Ivy!?" she exclaimed madly, throwing her head back with savage teeth gnashed into pure joy. "THEN YOU WILL KNOW POISON IVY!"

"YES!" Woodrue screamed, as the rain positively began to drown them now. "IVY, THERE IS SO MUCH WORK TO BE DONE! SO MUCH TO DO FOR MOTHER EARTH!"

Her heart broke as she looked up at him, feeling a deep, deep connection, a true desire and utter love for the man. He held his hand to her, and she took it, standing before him and holding her arms above her head. Her expression was evident. She offered herself to him.

And he took her. There, in that alleyway, with only the dead man to accompany them. Lust became action, and action became passion. The rain poured harder and harder, thunder rumbling loudly and happily as they embraced, Pamela's laughter still ringing about in the manic day, with manic ambitions behind every single note…

In time, Woodrue left her, drenched and weak, to bring the car around to the other side of the alley, and helped load the young man's body into the vehicle, quietly whisking away from the scene as subtly as they had come to it. They buried him in the woods outside of the town, and drove in joyful, confident silence back to Gotham, a journey filled with every thought and ambition the two minds could possibly stand to bear…

Pamela Isley had left Gotham fighting her war alone. She returned to it now, with a man who would help her fight this war… and who would help her realize the truth.