"Go ahead, baby," Pamela Isley whispered to the man who lay bound to the metal table before her, strapped down tight and finely as she waved the syringe before his face, grinning. "Scream for mommy…" The needle went in the neck. The scream came out of the mouth, understandably. A mixture of diluted toxins and enhanced stimulants entered the man's bloodstream, fogging his eyes over and paling his skin. His scream turned to guttural plea, a terrible sound of agony. She emptied the syringe and tossed it into a nearby trash bin, leaving the man to die his slow and painful death. Woodrue had examined the boy's physical: he had been given a nice, red REJECTION on his file… and so Pamela's job was to kill him. The man was their fifth rejection for that morning alone.
As she walked away from him, listening to his screams as the poison slowly killed him, she tried hard to block him out. It had been some trick learning to put all things out of mind and transcend into her personal world when she took a human. Otherwise, the fear and the discomfort would return, and remind her that she was still shackled in her human form. His screaming was so terrible. Often, when she had murdered, they never screamed like that…. No, they never screamed like that. Her methods were always silent and swift. If she used toxins, they would remove vocal abilities so easily… always they died under the influence of her pheromones, which nullified them considerably in various ways… Hearing the man scream like that made her feel cold. Very, very cold.
But the man was only doing what she had told him to do. She had told him to scream… and scream he did. Now that she heard it, she found that she did not like it very much. Not at all. She wanted him to stop. Perhaps she should go back and slit his throat…
Woodrue glanced up from the table he was working at, a scalpel in one hand, a woman beneath that hand, half-way dissected. "Scream for mommy?" he repeated, frowning. "Childish…"
Pamela blushed. "I'm… I'm sorry, it just seemed like something someone like us says…"
"Do you feel villainous Ivy?" he asked her, sneering. Pamela stared. Villainous? Now who was being the childish one? She shook her head intently.
"I'm a scientist, doing…scientificy things?" She shrugged. "What the hell am I supposed to say?"
"Apologize to the human," he responded at once, "and sound sincere."
"Why should I!?" she demanded, stamping down angrily. "These are our enemies, Jason!"
"They're just cattle," he said absentmindedly, making a small incision into the woman's heart. "They're just cattle…"
"Whatever. I'm going out. I need a break from this smelly room…" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The woman smelled terrible. The man she had just injected had stopped screaming, joining the dead.
"While you're out, I need a few more for this evening's tests, if you don't mind," he called to her as she turned to leave. Pamela spun around, raising her eyebrows. How many more did he need, exactly? "And do me a favor and wheel that one out." He pointed at Pamela's most recent victim. "I won't need any more male autopsies for the day."
"Do it yourself," she demanded coolly. "I'm going to have dinner. A nice dinner."
"Dinner? It's only eleven in the morning."
"What-whatever." She shook her head, frowning. "I call it afternoon dinner. I hate that word lunch. It sounds so…sandwhichey." She shivered.
"Fine, if you insist, Ivy. Go one. Scoot." He fliggled his fingers and noticed her no more, intently shredding the woman's heart to ribbons before Pamela's very eyes. Pamela felt uncomfortable. He did not sound the happiest about being told no. Quickly, she stammered out a shaky, "I'll g-get some more…"
Woodrue only grunted, separating the slices of heart onto a tray and picking up a syringe of one of the many mutagens that he had been working with. She turned away, trying to force her mind upon the Italian place near Futters. The MacMaroni it was called. Stupid name, stupid pun, but definitely top notch in Italian delicacies. She wanted meat, and a lot of it. Over the course of her time as Nature's bounty hunter, she had become a religious carnivore, obsessing over meat ravenously. She never had salad. No part of her could ever imagine murdering her children… Vegetables were meant to be worshiped, not eaten.
She passed Alissa as she went. Alissa was no longer hooked up to the machine of many plugs. Woodrue had at last taken her off of the support. However, he still kept her in her controlled coma. "She'll be ready," he had told her, "in time." How much time he had not specified, but it concerned Pamela dearly. She missed her friend. She wanted her friend back…
She squeezed Alissa's hand tightly, and gave the woman a single kiss upon the lips. She preferred men, but it just felt appropriate. Alissa was a part of her life, one of her only true friends. At least, she hoped so. What would Alissa be like when she finally awoke? Could Woodrue truly do what Pamela had failed to do?
You're going to have to trust him. Yeah, alright, fine.
She considered the encased monsters across the way. Woodrue's green nightmares stared at her from the distance, scratching at the glass. She felt her heart break for them. How she longed to free them. How she longed to unleash them upon the city. But Woodrue had assured her that this would come, in time, as well. In this place they would be developed, and then shipped off to his private estate in Oregon. There, they would be allowed to fully mature into adults that could be controlled and advance into their next great stages. In time, these creatures would come to be able to impersonate humans, blending in perfectly until it was time to strike… The theory on going about this had fascinated Pamela, whose knowledge on bio-chemistry was taking an even greater leap lately now that she was able to work with Jason Woodrue outside of class. Classes themselves were getting too easy. She was advancing through her coursework quickly, astounding professors and peers alike. The pheromones helped move her along, too. Sometimes she did not need the useless requirements that her professors religiously distributed. She would convince them to give her free passes during these times. Of course, she could only do this for certain assignments: group assignments and presentations would draw attention.
So it was that Pamela Isley came to realize a simple truth: balancing her mission with balancing her academic obligations was pure nightmare and, at times, impossible. She needed to finish school so that she could actually do some good. With her work and Woodrue's, they had already discussed future plans to start a business together, studying botanic remedies, which would fund their true work… work that must be hidden from the law's eyes at all times. With the influence of the Woodrue family and a corporation that played the pharmaceuticals well, it would be easier to secure their targets by the hundreds. The human genocide would be one step closer to being fulfilled.
I'll never give up. This was just a roadblock. Mother knew it. So did Woodrue. And he was helping her as much as he could. The two of them had already begun to outline their plans for the academia masters. The Dean, the two of them had agreed, would have to be removed soon. He would simply disappear. Woodrue had a suitable candidate in mind that could (and would) replace the man, allowing Woodrue access into the school's deeper interiors…
And Pamela? Pamela Isley would be protected. It had been long since the last harassment by the police…
Every day, Pamela walked past the signs on the billboards. MISSING: ALISSA JAGNER, blah blah blah… she was missing, along with countless other victims claimed by Poison Ivy over the course of her work. So what? What good did the signs do, anyway? People knew already that those humans were missing. Why waste paper… paper from trees that had been murdered and molded for human entertainment? It made her just absolutely pissy, so much so that she had begun to tear the things down when she saw them… Well, almost all of them. For some reason, she could never bring herself to trash the fliers of Alissa. She began to collect them in secret, and the massive pile was growing beautifully beneath her bed at home. Pictures of Alissa… her best friend…
She stepped out into the sun of the morning gleam. Woodrue's city home was a fine little cobblestoned cabin on the south side, sitting at the dead end of a quiet little avenue near the amusement park. Every hour, it seemed, the cheers and laughter of children and adults both in play would saturate the air, and Pamela would smile. She needed to visit this particular amusement park soon. Rumor (and a tourist point) had it that the Joker himself had an atom bomb stuffed beneath it somewhere! Naturally, after these rumors had begun to circulate, the park had been shut down for an extensive three-month search, but after it was concluded that no bomb could be found, the park had been reopened. Now, people came from all around just to experience being in this potentially ticking time bomb of a fun world.
What the hell!
She skipped merrily up the way, giggling to herself like a child. She was going to go for it! It was a fine Saturday morning! The blessed smell of funnel cakes, corndogs, fried Oreo pies and cotton candy were only small delights that overwhelmed her. In the air, there was bliss! Everyone had a smile upon their face, every child cackling with laughter! She practically danced up the gold and blue cobblestone path to the entry way, brushing her crimson mass with one hand to a side. Her tight, short green shorts and black crop top were already drawing stares from loiterers at the fence: why not complete the illusion? She blew them all a kiss, that gang of oglers, who studied her pale skin and meaty hips with catcalls and whistling as she bustled up to the ticket booth.
The old man inside smiled himself as he beheld the goddess before him.
"Just you?"
"Just me." She winked, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the pink spray bottle. She rested her arms on the counter and beamed at the old man. "Can I come in?"
"Odd, now. Someone as pretty as you needs an escort. You sure it's just you?"
Pamela feigned an annoying giggle, acting how she had trained herself to act so many times before. "Yeeeessss…." she cooed.
"Well, for you, I'll give you a discount, alright, if you promise to keep it between me and you, eh?" He winked back. Pamela grinned, and sprayed the pheromones in his face. His impish flirtiness suddenly became absolute joy. "I'll let you in… oh God, you're so beautiful…"
"Heel, boy," Pamela whispered, leaning in and kissing him. His old lips tasted stale, but she just felt right about it. She left him giggling stupidly, in love with her. She chuckled to herself. Sometimes it was fun just playing with the humans. They really did have their purposes. She only glanced back once as she crossed into the busy funland. Her gate oglers had disappeared. Only the slightest feeling of ominous thoughts cold showered her, but warmth quickly returned as she looked around and beheld the children's metropolis around her.
Merry-Go-Rounds with dragons and beavers. Several roller-coasters that probably gave breathtaking views of the city skyscape. Tilt-o-Whirls and Ferris Wheels, bumper cars and street performers who swallowed swords and lit themselves on fire… She had never really been to a place quite like this. Sure, she'd been out to a few party centers, but she had never taken the time to really experience a true amusement park like this. When she had been a child, her parents had never taken her. She had been "too fragile" of mind… Fuckers. She was glad that they'd been rotting in the dirt for years now. She probably would have returned to kill them herself if they had not beaten her to the job.
She took off. Games lined up along one pathway: basketball and ski ball, firing ranges and Pick-a-Ducks, even. Holy hell, an actual fucking Pick-A-Duck!
The ducks (rubber and adorable) were floating about in a large metal tub. Green ducks, red ducks, blue ducks, yellow ducks, even pink ducks and white ducks! Quack quack, they sang! Quack quack! Only she heard them of course. She crouched down before the tub and examined the ducks, her body shaking so hard… It was time. It was time for her to pick up a duck! The booth runner, a man with a large orange afro, leaned forward in his chair and grinned. He had five golden teeth.
"Got a kid, ma'am? Pick up a duck, see what number is on the bottom, and you win a prize depending on the number! See here." He motioned at the line of toys behind him. Large bears, larger green dragons, rubber snakes and huge, inflatable baseball bats and swords of foam… And then a balloon rose caught her eye. More, it was a rubber rose, very long, its bloom a bright blue. She wanted that rose. Grinning at the man, she asked, "Does it cost anything?"
"One dollar!"
Pamela shrugged. Why not? The man would be dead in a few years' time, perhaps sooner, if her and Woodrue were successful… She rifled through her wallet and pulled out a single dollar bill. The man grinned, motioning at the ducks, and she picked up a bright green one. She liked green…
On the bottom of the duck was a number 4. She, and the man, glanced up at the rack, finding the number 4 row. She had her choice of a large brown bear, a bright blue, fuzzy snake or a foam sword. Pamela frowned.
"I want that rose," she said, pointing at it. The man nodded understandably. "You're a beautiful girl, alright… I'll give you a free one. Pick up another duck." Another!? Holy mother of fuck, ANOTHER!? Breathing hard, her heart thumping like a dancer in her chest, she nodded and picked up another duck, this time a bright red one. She liked the color of her hair, too…
A 6 this time. Now she could pick up a balloon baseball bat, a rubber snake, a fuzzy armadillo or a free pass for a small ice cream cone from the Lunewickie's Ice Cream Stop near the front gates… Fuck! FUCK! JUST FUCK! I WANT THAT ROSE!
"I want…the rose…"
The orange man frowned. "Ma'am? Come on, I gave you a free shot at it. Pick a prize from 4 and 6, alright."
No. No, she was not leaving without that rose! She leaned forward, and doused the man with her charms at once. He went very giddy under her powerful influence, his mind addled by the sweet smell of her pheromones.
"The rose, please," she repeated, coldly. He reached out dumbly for her, his head swaying, and he mumbled something like, "Give you anything…anything…" He gave her the rose. For good measure, she also took his wallet as compensation, emptying out the hundreds of dollars' worth of cash and placing it back in his pocket, all the while staying close to him so as not to reveal these actions to the many passerby who were enjoying themselves. To anyone looking, she seemed to be embracing him. Naturally, she was the man's girlfriend… of course…
"Here, you can have this." He jingled his keys before her face too, his eyes going out of focus, his grin still wide and stupid… but she was already skipping away, rubber rose in hand.
She took to the Tilt-O-Whirl first, holding her accompanying rider's hand as they spun about and about. She was a nice young woman and, under Pamela's influence, ogled with delight at her held hand. She tried to follow Pamela after the ride was over, but Pamela had already faded into the crowd. Soon after, she spotted another man, alone, leaning against a fence, eating cotton candy. Ambushing him, she stole his cotton candy from his grasp first… and was already dousing him even as he opened his mouth to swear at her. He, too, became her date for a time, accompanying her in a worshipable fashion onto a dragon at the Merry-Go-Round, in the car of the Grundy Mountain Roller Doom coaster, and finally into the Tunnel of Love itself. True as the movies had shown, Gotham had made boats into the shapes of swans and ducks. Pamela drug the infatuated man into a swan with her, and as the darkness overtook them, she pulled the man in close, kissing him with the deepest, most sincere passion. Whoever he was, whatever his name was, right now he was her boyfriend. He moaned loudly, shaking as she forced herself upon him, wanting to experience, for the first time in her life, the wonders of the dark, perfume scented Tunnel of Love as their automated swan swum them across a swift lagoon, a legion of glow-in-the-dark stars overwhelming them from above.
Oh, my Mother Earth… I feel so REAL right now. I'm kissing a boy in the Tunnel of Love… I've wanted to do this for so long…
She did not know how long the tunnel went. Could there be time for other things in the dark? Her hormones screamed at her to find out. She allowed him to touch her, chancing it… It was everything she had ever dreamed of, too. In here, she was a girl living a dream, embracing the truth of teenager hood without the constipations of constant therapy from Coleman's Ridge…without the onslaught of Dr. Mamiste's constant insistence that she cooperate her thoughts… without people throwing bags of feces and rocks at her window in the middle of the night, shouting at her that she was a "fucking little plant freak…"
This is MY moment! This is happening!
When she saw, through her dazed, sexed up vision, the approaching tunnel's end with its lights, she pushed the man gently away from his…indulgences. Pulling her shorts back to decency levels, she held the man close to him, and when they had reached the dock at the end, she decided to leave him there, sitting dumbfounded and drugged in the boat, slipping away before boat attendants came to check.
That…had been wonderful. A peaceful time, with a peaceful man, in a peaceful world of false stars and swan boats. She wanted to ride again… but there was still so much of this place to explore. She had to pull herself away from the ride and amuse herself even more so! She had to experience! She had to know!
She found a very large tent soon enough. Orange with black stripes, it was colossal and surrounded by eons of clowns who juggled about bowling pins and clowns who crashed the unicycles they rode about on and spat out bicycle parts from their mouths… She ventured inside.
Trapeze artists! Actual trapeze artists! They were graceful and divine in how they sailed throughout the air, lords of the act. They spun throughout hoops and dove through flaming rings. A ringmaster stood at the ground level, in the middle of a large, circular wooden ring, where a lion was being led back into its cage by a clown that held a whip in hand. The ringmaster was fat and hairy, and as he danced about, she found herself amused and filled with a child-like fascination for all things silly and unrefined.
Pamela found a seat near the entrance, entranced by the sight around her, by the awed crowd… The lights were dimming. The trapeze artists were slipping away into the dark. All around the stage, a blue fog began to float upward, overwhelming the place as blue and green lights blared down to the middle of the performing utopia. The ringmaster bowed to the audience, tossing aside his hat, and he bellowed into his megaphone, "LADIES AND GENTLEMAN! BOYS AND GIRLS OF ALL AGES! BEAUTIES, UGLIES, DRUGGIES AND HOMELESS! WAR VETERANS, IMPS, DEVILS AND ANGELS AND WHOEVER THE HELL ELSE IS IN THE AUDIENCE TONIGHT… WELCOME TO INTERMISSION!"
"FOR THIS AFTERNOON'S INTERMISSION SHOW, WE HAVE A VERY SPECIAL GUEST. SOME OF YOU HAVE SEEN HER BEFORE! SOME OF YOU HAVE ASKED HER FOR HER NUMBER AND WHATNOT! BUT TODAY, FOLKS, SHE'S COME BACK TO REMIND US OF WHY SHE'S SUCH A WONDROUS FLOWER! NOW, ALL OF YOU MORTALS AND PATHETIC FOOLS…"
The fog dissipated at last, and the crowd cheered. So did Pamela. Seemingly out of nowhere, there stood a woman. Well-built and dazzling in her ocean blue leotard, the dark-haired woman with the cropped haircut beamed at the audience, blowing them kisses and air high fives as she twirled slowly about the stage, music playing from fine, jazzy tunes.
"…WORSHIP HER! BOW DOWN, MORTAL FOOLS, AND WORSHIP HER! THE GODDESS VALERE FRAZEER!" The ringmaster fell to the woman's feet and began to worship. The crowd exploded in laughter and cheers. Valere Frazeer bowed to her audience… and suddenly, she was flying! Well, it seemed she was flying… Suddenly, she was soaring through the air, the wind her slave as she seemingly moon-jumped onto the rafters high above. The crowd was exploding in frantic joy, Pamela herself screaming and whooping as she cried out for more and more…
Frazeer really was a human goddess. She practically flew through the air as she leaped clean across the tent, from one rafter to another, spinning about she flew, flipping at every angle imaginable and landing with perfect, cat-like grace. As she sailed about, fire suddenly exploded from her! There were screams, both of fear and excitement. The fire exploded, it seemed, from the woman's very arms, and a grand deal of it cascaded down right at the net that had been established for her. She was now freefalling through the air, the safety net burning away to pure cinder…
But, miraculously, the woman landed, perfectly, crouched down upon the stage! It…was…impossible! She had fell at least a hundred feet, but here she was, bowing at a screaming crowd, elegantly positioned and blowing more and more kisses to her obsessive fans.
And then she was gone. In a flash, blue smoke suddenly exploded all around her, and the woman was gone in an instant. The screams of joy never stopped. Pamela was positively leaping up and down, an hour later, when she had finished watching more and more of the daredevils on wires… with a surprise visit from Frazeer at the end, who actually managed to jump and land on one foot upon a tall, thin pole, before she flipped over in the air, landed once more upon a single hand, and then spun about on the pole until she reached the ground.
This woman… this show… this park… It was Heaven. She realized that it could not be anything less!
The ringmaster promised Frazeer's return at the next grand show, which would take place in two hours. Fiercely promising herself that she would come back for that show, awed by the ringmaster's promises that Frazeer would be doing an entirely different set of tricks and wonders, she bound out of the tent, her heart hammering with such joy, such bliss!
Her mind was reeling about with all of the fine excitement that she had experienced, her body and soul craving to know deeper the passionate fruits of amusement… And it was her searching that led her to…him. One of the hims. A him…
She stopped, her mind going blank and her body still. She could not believe what she was seeing… He was right there in front of her, his back turned to her, his attention completely upon the slender, black haired goddess that he had his arm around.
Donovan Ventimago was sipping a bottle of Bruskee beer and laughing at some joke his girlfriend had just told him. They were walking past a row of water gun ranges ("Squirt the gun, and watch 'em run! Get to the end first and win a water blaster of your very own!")
Her mind went blank of her regards and entertainment necessities. Donovan Ventimago was standing right-the-fuck-in-front-of-her.
Right in front of me…right in front of me…
Memories came flooding back at once. Memories she wanted to forget...
Memories that made her smile regardless.
Oh, boy…
Yes… Mother Earth had brought her to this park for a reason. It had been a command! A COMMAND.
She stalked the pair of them. Stalked them silently and professionally, never taking her eyes off of them for a moment. She followed at a decent distance, watching the muscular titan of a man pop his lady's skirt with perverted glee and toss the beer bottle aside, hitting a clown in the back of the head…
She smiled again. Oh, you bad boy…
Her soul began to whisper a promise: The next time he left this park, it would be in a body bag… But no! No, no, no! This… was perfect. Jason had asked her for more subjects… and she had promised.
So, then, she needed to get rid of the legs and mini-skirt. Taking a close examination of the French woman, Pamela decided she did not like her at all. She talked in that Valley Girl prominence, and walked with a suggestive manner, giggling loudly at nothing funny in particular.
Okay, then…
She could easily lure the woman into the dark, douse her, and force the girl to lock herself in a bathroom stall or something. Then, Donovan could be intercepted…
She moved fast. As the pair of them reached a fried foods vendor, they stopped, Donovan eyeballing the gator-on-a-sticks that hung beautifully from the roof of the vendor. Pamela moved behind him silently, staring at the back of his head… her fists were clenched and trembling. Donovan shifted uncomfortably, as if he felt someone watching him… and he turned.
Pamela, however, had already moved out of sight, vanishing into the heavy crowd that came by. Donovan himself caught a brief flash of crimson hair… but it meant nothing to him. Nothing about crimson hair was odd. He shook his head, shrugging, dismissing the odd feeling as a random occurrence with no source…
But the source watched him from the darkness behind the vendor station. She could see his face through the foggy glass on the other side, and Miss Pink Lips crossing her arms impatiently as Donovan scanned the foods carefully. Her heart was emitting waves of toxic rage. He was here. He existed. Sinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsinsin!
When the man finally decided upon his fried delight, he munched on the alligator carcass with deep content as the two lovers began to make their way towards the animal pins. The petting shelters were massive and cloaked in the dark of the great barns before them, hosting hundreds of stalls with neighing horses, moo'ing cows, oinking pigs and baaaaa'ing goats. The lovely lady collapsed before a stall of very fat swine and squealed with delight, prodding them in the noses. Pamela, meanwhile, kept her eyes on Donovan. He was standing before a large black mare and rubbing his hand up and down its muzzle. She fiddled around with her poisons, from the black Nyrox around her neck to the encased syringes hidden in the side pocket of her left boot. Just beyond the stalls, she could see the forest, and a gate that led out to a back parking lot…
It was almost as if Mother Earth wanted her to act. She had set things up just so.
Pamela made up her mind. She knew what to do.
Quietly, confidently, she walked forward and came to stand behind Donovan, his girl still busying herself with the pigs. This time, he felt the presence so close behind him, heard her breath… and she confirmed his senses by tapping him on the shoulder.
When he looked around and saw her standing there, one might have accused him of shitting a golden brick, right there and then. He stared at her with wide eyes, suddenly the definition of uncomfortable. Pamela, meanwhile, beamed up at him happily, her grin so fucking sincere.
"Donovan, baby!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. He was still rooted to the spot, dumbstruck about who was standing before him. "I've missed you!"
The girlfriend looked around at once, and when she saw the redheaded hussie huggin her man, she leapt up at once, a savage expression upon her beautiful features. Donovan shoved Pamela away, and she went crumpling onto the ground. But even from there, she exhaled excitedly, staring up at him with wide, beaming eyes.
"Who are you!?" the girlfriend demanded, embracing Donovan protectively. Donovan, who, although being naturally very dark, paled considerably, an ugly expression upon her face.
"Just some nutcase," he snapped. He pointed a finger at her in a threatening manner. "I told you before to stay the hell away from me, Isley."
Pamela stayed sitting upon the ground, her elbow on her knee, her chin on her knuckles, staring up at him inquisitively.
"But baby, you haven't called in so long," she insisted. "It's been far too long…" She held a peace sign up to her mouth and wiggled her tongue between the two fingers. She had seen that on a movie once. She was certain it had something to do with a woman's birth canal. Just as Pamela predicted, the girlfriend became enraged at once, and she suddenly stepped forward… and kicked Pamela as hard as she could across the face.
That… that had not been expected.
The boot collided with Pamela's nose, and blood squirted as she went rolling away across the smelly hay, colliding against the pig pen headfirst. Her world shattered around her as she, dazed and confused, tried to get her mental bearings. That… had just happened. The woman had kicked her…
Not…according to plan…
But Donovan and his kicker were coming forward, and they towered over her in her pathetic state. Donovan's eyes were ablaze.
"It's odd. It's really, really odd. I thought we'd left an impression… I thought we'd left our mark and our message…"
His girlfriend suddenly gasped. "Wait… you mean this is-"
Donovan nodded, and he reached down and pulled Pamela up to her feet by the scruff of her neck. Pamela stared into his mad eyes with fear of her own. "That's right, Rosa… this is Virginia."
Virginia? Pamela's eyes widened. Virginia!?
Donovan could sense her confusion, and he grinned. "Oh yeah, Pammy… Virginia Vixen. That's what we called you, for the purposes of the video description. Couldn't exactly called you by your real name. Helps avoid legal problems…"
And suddenly Pamela understood. The video… they had recorded her rape, and posted it online after careful editing… She understood exactly what he was talking about. She was Virginia Vixen, the woman who, undoubtedly, was enjoying herself as three men raped her, one…after…another…
"So, you missed me that much, Pamela?" He chuckled, and pulled her close to him. His lips were on her in an instant, and she felt disgusted and sick. If only, if only she were wearing her special lipstick… Rosa punched him on the shoulder, hissing.
"Don't kiss her!" she shrieked. She looked around worriedly. People were staring from a little ways away… but most were pretending not to notice the situation. This was Gotham City. People kept to their own…
"You shut up!" Donovan warned Rosa. "I only feel like teaching one whore a lesson for today." He glanced up, in the direction of the woods. "That will work. So, you missed me that much, Virginia?" He kissed Pamela again, and Pamela spat at him, viciously hissing as she struggled to get free. He grinned, licking at her saliva and shaking his head. He whispered, "Naughty…"
She was forced hard against the post of the stable in an instant. Still, no one came to intervene… Rosa fumed behind Donovan, her arms folded. Pamela surmised that the woman was not exactly here of her own desires. A whore, perhaps, or something deeper than that…
But she still kicked me in the face…
"Come on," Donovan said, spinning Pamela around and pinning her arms behind her. "We're going for a hike. You were an idiot, Isley. You should have kept your distance… I've missed you…"
"Just what the hell do you think you're doing!?" Pamela demanded, still unable to break free of his football hold. "I'll scream!"
"Scream," he whispered in her ear… and she suddenly felt something cold against her throat. It did not take long to gather the feeling of a switchblade against one's skin. "Please scream…" He licked her ear. "God, please scream… I want you to scream…"
Pamela did not scream. Pamela did not say anything.
"Now… do you know what lesson I'm going to teach you today, whore?"
Whore. He had called her a whore. Still, she remained silent.
"Can we get the fuck out of here!?" Rosa demanded. Pamela heard the woman cough out hard and violently, with an oomph… She knew that Donovan had just kicked her.
"I said be quiet," Donovan said quietly. "The lesson, Isley," he whispered into Pamela's ear, "is that Gotham is filled with demons. It's filled with devils. Want to find out just how much?" He punted her forward, smelling her hair…
He was driving her forward in the direction of the gate… in the direction of the woods… in the direction of some dark fate…