Over a year earlier…

Her boots were unnaturally loud in the corridor. CLOP CLOP CLOP they sang. God how she hated that sound. But it would matter little soon. Very, very soon, shoes, clothing, all the natural expectations for the public would be figments of the past. She stopped about halfway in the middle of the corridor, examining the walls carefully. Various science awards dotted the Special Recognitions hallway, her name on several of them. Her old name, anyway. Pamela Isley was hardly fitting of those awards now that she looked through better eyes. Though, of course, this private thought was merely only half reinforced. Over time, she had begun to question her right to call herself Poison Ivy. After all, she was still human…

But not for long. Not after tonight.

"Meet me at the house at 8 p.m. sharp. Tonight is the night", the text message had told her. Simple words, but the most important ever brought her way. The night she had been waiting for, dreaming of… It was just getting seven now, and Pamela Isley was walking along the darkened, empty halls of several buildings across the university's large campus. Each building had become significantly less important as each day faded. English classes, science seminars, math lectures… none of these things mattered anymore. None of them. They had prepared her, and now she was leaving them behind. Nevertheless, she had wanted to revisit them one-last-time.

Her beautiful face peered back at her from some of the pictured frames. The girl there, her beam was genuine, but in a way, she had passed away. That girl was a murderer, unknown to all others but two, and several of her own classmates had met their demises to her and her experiments. That girl who beamed back at her from behind the thin sheet of glass… she had transformed on the inside. All that was left was to ensure the transformation on the outside. Pamela brushed one green gloved hand across that girl's face, smiling sadly at the girl that she had once been.

Then, looking left and looking right, sure that this building was abandoned and would be until late Sunday night, she raised her hands, balled them into fists, and slammed them fiercely into the awards and pictures. The Pamela Isley behind the glass shattered, destroyed by the one on the other side, and the other science winners followed her suit. She punched and scraped, pulled and upended. Glass, paper and wood went flying everywhere, littering into a great pile at her feet.

She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, exhilarated by her vandalism. Her red hair hung limply over her face, concealing her crazed grin.

"Felt good," she breathed, straightening up and brushing her hands back with her gloves. Making sure to trod over the broken glass and the photos of her face, she left the great mess where it was and exited through a side door and out into the winter night.

On either side of her, Donovan Ventimago and Archibald Helan walked with her. She smiled softly at them both, kissing them both on their cheeks. Both were nude and as they had been at their deaths: poisoned, mutilated, and beautiful.

"You want to make a real fuss?" Archie asked her excitedly. "Set that fucking sorority on fire. You know, the one with the eagle banners?"

"No, man!" Donovan chuckled. "She should burn the fucking police station down. Campus police, ya know! Burn all those fuckwads inside! The ones that got paid off and let Otto Rock and us get away Scott free!"

Pamela tilted her head as they walked down a concrete path towards a busy water fountain in the middle of campus. The fountain had many angels spraying water-filled trumpets. "I could destroy this entire campus with the power that Woodrue will give me," she told the two apparitions, settling herself down onto the edge of the fountain. Off to her left, on the other side of the fountain, two women were making out fiercely, locked in desperate passion, unaware that she was sitting across from them…though they probably would not have cared. Privacy meant nothing to these bastards. "I suppose, given the right amount of time," Pamela continued, reaching into her long, flowing green coat and pulling out a very sharp switchblade, "I could come back and annihilate every building…every person….everything…" She gazed at the knife in her hand. "Everything destroyed," she whispered to it.

"That sounds like a plan," the knife whispered back to her in a hissing voice.

Without a word, but with plenty of cause, Pamela jumped to her feet and sprinted around the fountain. She threw herself at the passionate women and pushed them into the grass, leaping upon their backs and sinking the knife into one of the blonde heads before her. The other tried to fight, but Pamela had oodles of adrenaline, and, withdrawing the knife from her first victim, slashed the throat of the second. Mild screams were cut short as Pamela overpowered them both and slayed them in the privacy of the dark…

She stabbed and she stabbed and she stabbed forever. By the time she stopped stabbing, their blood was absolutely flowing with magnificent, broken dam-like quality. Hardly breathing, quite bored, Pamela stood up silently and wiped the blood off of the knife onto her dark jacket. She barely gave her victims a second glance as she walked away into the darkness once more, Donovan and Archie following closely behind.

She checked the time. 7:09. Oh, look at that. Still thirty minutes before she needed to take off. The three of them made their way through a grotto near the fountain and into the darkness of the shadow of the math building. Lights were on in the upstairs classrooms. Weekend studiers, the worst. She positively kicked the doors to the building open with a dark, bored expression. The lobby of the building with dimly lit and packed with vending machine, with a single staircase to the left leading up to the study halls where she had seen the light. She could not risk it. She had not realized how close she had been to this building at that fountain…

But when she peered into the study halls, the two young men she found were busying themselves with their noses practically in their textbooks. She entered the room without a word.

One of them looked up at her, and jerked his head upward in a sort of street salute, universal for "What's up?" without actually having to say it. She returned it, her expression still dead as she approached them both. As she did, she glanced up through the windows. The bodies of the murdered girls could be seen in the darkness some way ahead. Smiling, glad for the excuse, she bent down before the man who had acknowledged her. Her gloved hand slid down the textbook he read, and he looked at her in aggravation.

"What?" he snapped.

Pamela tilted her head. Then, her gloved hands wrapped around his cheeks and she pulled his face forward. The toxic lipstick she wore paralyzed him at once, cutting his air off and permeating his lips. Pamela moaned sensually, kissing him deeply and passionately, and the man's friend beamed over at them, grinning widely at the action his friend was getting… until he saw that his friend's body had started to spasm.

"Hey, what the f-" But Pamela pushed her victim aside, slamming him into the table, where he began to choke to death, and threw herself on top of the other. The chair flipped over and the two of them crashed into the floor, but Pamela sat atop him, cowgirl style and excited, and sunk the knife two, three, four times into his neck and head. He struggled to throw her off but fell still after the second stab to the head.

Leaving the stab victim in his pool of blood, she stood up and turned back to her first victim in this room. He was gagging, vomiting green all over the table top, clutching his throat in terror as his skin turned pale. She sat down on a chair across from him and gazed at him dreamily with the deepest smile, watching him die and not moving from the room until he did.

Covered in blood, breathing heavily and overjoyed that she had gotten to have fun before meeting with Woodrue, she silently went downstairs into the basement level. The actual door that led into the boiler room, however, was locked. Silently, Pamela turned and knocked on the janitor's office nearby. Not an answer. Not a light on inside. Shrugging, she raised her arms, balling her hands together into a clumpy fist, and threw her entire force against the glass of the door. The door window smashed, cutting into Pamela's gloves and into her. She grinned at the pain she felt. Picking little shards absentmindedly from her skin, she carved a little heart into her forearm, delighted at how her blood flowed, how it looked like a bleeding heart now. Silently, not quite there, she cut and cut and cut into her skin in the middle of the little heart until her blood was so thick that it looked like the heart was filled in.

Dropping the shard of glass, eyes wide, she moved like a ghost, reaching through the window, unlocking the door, still not exactly comprehending that she was really there at all. The janitor had left the basement keys on a hook behind the door. Before she left, she smashed the office up, destroying his own framed photos, desk décor, awards and computer… she annihilated that fucking room for this fucking school on this fucking continent… And still, was she even aware that she had done such a thing at all?

The basement was an eerie, deathly place, a foul-smelling boiler chamber that hosted a wide variety of supplies. Gas valves and propane tanks were neatly aligned along one wall in rows of three. Absentmindedly, risking all life and existence as she did it, she tipped them over, one at a time, unstoppering the valves and letting the wonderful gases spew out their hissy pleasures, turning the boiler on and spilling cleaning chemicals all over the place. When she reached the top of the stairs, she took a lighter out of her pocket, a gift from Alissa, and cut a strip of her own jacket away. The strip was set aflame within a few minutes, and she tossed it down into the darkness, moving quickly away, through the halls and out of the building.

Once outside, she began to run. And run. And run.

She never heard the explosion go off, but when she had finally begun the drive out of her apartment's yard, her own home set aflame by her hand, her plants safely removed and stored in the backseat, she sped off onto the highway and saw the blazing inferno that had been the math building in the rear view mirror. And it gave her the deepest smile. Burn the world away. Burn it all away.

Whispering her final goodbye to the campus and to her home, Pamela sped off into the night. As she drove, she pulled out a vial from her purse and held it up before her. Inside, a glistening purple substance. She had been taking her antidote nightly for two months now, slowly perfecting her immune system. Tonight was the night she would show Woodrue her ultimate achievement, and he would have no choice but to praise her. The serum that would give her full immunity to some of life's nastier (and more beautiful) weapons…

Woodrue was waiting for her outside of his home. She pulled into his driveway with ten minutes to deadline, and he looked very pleased with her. Always on time, her favorite student. Pamela slammed the door fiercely behind her, grinning darkly at her lover/teacher. Having made sure the last of the toxic lipstick had been wiped away from her lips, she embraced him. Naturally, in her passion, she had forgotten that there didn't seem to be a poison yet that could harm him. Her experiment with the anti-toxin serum had, in part, been her attempt to unlock his secrets. She felt that she was close to cracking them, too.

"This is a special night," Woodrue told her when she pulled away from him, straightening his askew glasses and wiping her saliva away. "The most important night of your life."

Pamela grinned, reaching for him again… but as she did, something very fast and very loud suddenly blasted overhead. She and Woodrue jumped, spinning around and gazing into the sky. The black jet sailed across the sky, fast as lightning, black as death. They saw the burning blue light of the flaming tailpipe blurring into the distance as the jet blasted in the direction of campus. Woodrue considered the vehicle with interest.

"Batman is on the hunt for someone this night. As he is every night, it seems." He chuckled. "I wonder who."

Pamela smiled to herself. "I killed four people tonight," she whispered to him, holding his hand and squeezing it gently. She gazed into his wide eyes and loved him. "I just…couldn't control myself…I couldn't control myself at all, it was like breathing. It just happened… and then I…I burned down the math building." She shakily laughed, grinning madly at him. "I burned it down and now it's going to be ash!" She giggled and giggled, doubling over in laughter. Woodrue stared and stared, his expression blank with shock. "Oh, my goodness, Jason… I can't stop myself anymore. I can't stop myself at all. It just keeps biting and biting and biting and there' just-no-end-to-it." She stamped her boot down hard. "This city deserves to burn. All of it. Every bit of it."

Woodrue continued to stare, pale and considerably lower in terms of durability. His knees buckled, and he quickly had to straighten himself, wincing. She was gazing longingly at the stars, and at the treetops silhouetted against the night sky. Woodrue, meanwhile, looking very grave, was nodding silently to himself, his eyes narrowed. So that was how it had to be, then.

"Come inside, Poison Ivy," he whispered to her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Come inside, now. There is work to do."

She followed him, happily and trembling, and he bolted the door tightly behind them. He motioned for her to go into the living room, and when she had disappeared through the door, whispering some prayer to Mother Earth under her breath, Woodrue pulled out his cellular.

A phone call. Ring ring. God what a phone call, too. He himself trembled now. It had been a mere three days since his last call, but it seemed like three years.

"Yes…" The voice that answered him was the most terrible voice. High, raspy, inhuman, a gurgle of desolate normality.

"I-It's time," he managed to say aloud, shaking hard, fighting back the barrage of laughter that threatened to explode out of him. "It's happening tonight."

"Too long have we waited for this," the raspy voice hissed on the other end. "Far too long."

"Yes, we have… it won't take long, I swear it. I have W and Chancey on standby. They've an armored truck. They await my call. By morning, we'll be well out of Gotham City limits. Well on to the future."

"What of the corpse?"

Woodrue beamed at the phone. "They're going to be tracing it back to me soon enough. I don't have anything to hide at this point. I'll let them have it."

"Are you sure that is wise?"

"The corpse will be insignificant. Useless. I'd use a gun, but… I do want to test the power of the machine. I've already received an order from Bangkok and another from Denmark. I'll be recording. They'll get to see what their money will obtain for them."

"Very well. I suppose, given the length of the relationship. Make it a good death. I await you, my love."

"The chopper…is it suitable?"

"For now. I would have them reach the airport soon. A jet will benefit my body so much more."

"I promise I will do everything I can to comfort you, love. Our time has come."

"I'll be eagerly waiting. I won't keep you."

When the phone hung up, Woodrue nearly collapsed to his knees, wiping tears of joy from his eyes. All of Pamela's research was downstairs in the main lab. He had everything he needed to perfect the plant samples and begin the testing stages for the new viral agents. She had been such a good girl. But there was still an obstacle. One last thing to do.

When he stepped into the living room, Pamela whispered his name. She lay nude and beautiful, stretched across the lavish couch, crimson hair cascading over perfect breasts, little pink flowers in her hair. He stopped dead in his tracks, examining the specimen, smelling the powerful perfume that she emitted and feeling his blood warming. She smiled suggestively at him… and he smiled back.

"Care to give the old me a proper goodbye?" was her pitch.

He simply gave her a nod, his consumerist interest a reflection of the simple phrase: What the hell.

Woodrue descended, fully intent on giving Pamela Isley a proper, ultimate farewell…forever. He was never going to see her again, after all. She felt warm tonight, and it was nothing to do with the friction: it was everything to do with the anticipation of what was coming, an idea shared by both, though with different outcomes tied to the hopes. He pacified her anxiety with raw sex, chipping away the seconds in his mind that were slowly, slowly ticking towards destiny. One last exposure to Poison Ivy.

Afterwards, they lay by the fireplace, empty but nonetheless a mark of romance. The warmth made fire meaningless. She hurt, clawing at the carpet, as Woodrue gazed at the ceiling, his thoughts a thousand miles away. Police sirens were singing in the distance. He supposed things had to progress.

"Ivy…"

"Yes?"

"Enter the machine."

He helped her to her feet, guiding her to the glass chamber that she had expressed interest in once, and now would come to know for the better. Sitting inside the giant tank, he helped her settle herself onto the leather bed, strapping her wrists and ankles tightly. She moaned softly.

"We've never taken it to this level," she whispered. Woodrue smirked. Even at the threshold of the future, she still had time to make jokes. And she deserved nothing less. This was her moment, her defining time. He wanted her to enjoy every second that was left. "Jason, love, in all seriousness: I have something I want to show you. Something I've been keeping secret. A surprise."

"Is that right?" Woodrue said softly, fumbling around with the needle-ended tubes and twisting small nodes on each, resounding in a faint little clicks.

"A small experiment I've been wanting to bring further."

"No worries, Ivy. I swear to you, after this is all over, your research will be my life's obsession. But you must prepare yourself for the transformation. Your body and the Floric virus…will become one tonight." He stroked her cheek very lovingly, and tears filled her eyes.

"I'm…so happy," she whispered to him, her lips trembling. "R-really…I am…"

"As am I…"

"Thank you, Jason, for all of this. Thank you for giving me the future."

"You've helped me secure it for you, Ivy. You've opened up doors." He held up one needled before her. "Now, take a breath." She did so, closing her eyes, and she only winced slightly as he settled the little needle into her vein. She had felt so much pain before this night. Needles meant nothing anymore. He inserted one after another, hitting several points along her arms, feet, hands and neck, a mad nightmare of acupuncture. All the while, she moved little, teeth gritted, relishing what the pain meant, and therefore relishing the pain.

"It's time," he whispered to her, sure that she was ready. He turned slightly, smiling at the little camcorder sitting on the coffee table across from the tank. Pamela noticed it too.

"A camera?"

"Yes, Ivy. A camera." He kissed her forehead, and stepped away.

"What…for…?" She was feeling lightheaded.

Woodrue stood for a moment. To her, he was a stature, lost in the deepest form of contemplation, drumming fingers lightly at the sides of his naked form. Then, slowly, he turned to face her.

"For the clients."

Pamela's eyes widened. "C-clients?"

Woodrue nodded. "Pamela… oh Pamela…"

"Don't call me that! What do you mean…clients…?"

Woodrue walked over to the console built into the side of the tank, and fumbled with a switch. Though Pamela did not know it, she felt it. The effect of the light anesthetic. The ability to move…disabled.

"I have clients," Woodrue said, "across the world interested in the work of both me and Pampadora. That work will lay down countless foundations as we slowly build New Eden up. But to build it up, money is essential. This device, this tank of transformation that you are inside of… I created it myself, based on the original blueprints of a gas chamber prototype, a draft dismissed by the original Federal Department of Criminal Justice. I modified the original design and designed it for an effective assimilator of organic material, as well as an emitter. I have a special clientele interested in such a device. I want them to see what this machine is capable of."

"Capable…of…" Pamela struggled weakly, suddenly…scared. "You mean…there are others…who want to make Florics?"

"Others who want to make Florics? Hardly, Pamela. Hardly. If only… no, no, this device is not suited to proper transformative procedures. No… this device is a mere tool of execution. A DNA extractors, naturally, but merely a glorified gas chamber."

"W-what!?" Pamela struggled against the straps… and then remembered that she could not move. She stared, wide-eyed and terrified at Woodrue, who looked very sad.

"Poor Alissa. She'll never know what happened to dear Pamela Isley. Once we've left town, we'll deal with her memories. Her mind needs further help. We'll reset her. Alissa is the future, after all."

"A-Alissa!? But…what about me!?"

Now Woodrue looked more than sad: he looked downright heartbroken. "You failed me," Woodrue said. "You failed me, Pamela Isley. You were too out of control. Too lost in your wild game of Venus fly trap and flies. Unable to control your vigilant crusade, you have become a liability to the uprising of New Eden."

"No!"

"You have decided body count is more important than tact-"

"Shut up!" Pamela sobbed.

Woodrue shook his head. "You're so lost in your obsession, so adamant about this unending crusade of yours that you cannot see beyond the destruction you crave so highly to cause. I'm removing you as a liability to the uprising. You are not suited to be given responsibility over our perfect world."

"JASON!" Pamela cried, sobbing, teeth gnashing as she struggled and struggled to make her body fight through the paralysis. But Woodrue merely pressed a button on the console.

"Farewell, Pamela."

And suddenly, pain like no other. Death. It was death. Liquefied death. From the pumping system, a viscous green fluid flowed through the tubes and entered her bloodstream through the injections. Simultaneously, a faint, blue-green gas began to pour in from a ventilator installed at the back.

Pamela Isley was screaming. She was screaming like she had never screamed before, trapped inside of the most fiery, deathly pain, an unimaginable hell within her body that mimicked the kiss of flame with the strangulation of needles. Her veins burned. Her organs burned. Her lips burned. Her eyes burned. God, everything burned! Burning, burning, burning….dying… She choked. Gagged on poison. Poison was bubbling in her mouth, bleeding out of her nose and ears and practically every pore of her body, the toxic gas strangling her… Chemicals were imploding within her body, sending electrical shockwaves through her nerves and directly into her brain.

And then Pamela Isley became still. Pamela Isley was dead.