Pamela left Barbara behind with the flare of the blowtorch hissing in the workshop. She let her steps echo down the long concrete passages, curious to see what Barbara's lair really had to offer. The damp chill of the sewer clung to her skin as she moved slowly past rows of pipes branching in every direction. Her voice was soft, almost lost in the space.
"We really need a name for this place. We can't just call it the sewer lair… that would attract attention in all the wrong ways."
She paused at an intersection where thick pipes disappeared into black tunnels. Her brow furrowed as she traced a finger along the damp wall.
"This place has expansion potential. We could knock out a few walls, seal off these pipes so nothing can crawl in. God forbid Ratcatcher sniffs around, or Croc, or some other sewer freak Batman forgot to deal with."
Her eyes narrowed further as she tapped the concrete. "And we'll need lead paint. To block thermal imaging. Easy enough to find in abandoned industrial yards. Villains have been hoarding that kind of shit for years."
She continued on, murmuring as ideas spun in her head. "I can put Midnight Rose seedlings at the entrance too. Midnight Roses to wrap and strangle intruders, eat them down to bones. Feed them to the roots. That will keep us safe."
She stopped when she reached the stream near the sealed entrance. The water moved sluggishly, carrying bits of debris. Pamela's gaze softened. She touched her Midnight Rose bracelet, fingering the ten flowers carefully before plucking two free.
"My little darlings," she whispered, lowering her hand. "You'll have plenty to feed on here. Claim it."
She dropped them into the stream. The blossoms opened wide, petals sliding back as roots snapped outward. They drilled down through concrete, unseen, weaving beneath the lair. The water rippled faintly before calming, leaving no sign of the transformation.
Pamela smiled, hands resting on her hips. "That should take care of the pests. Rats, crocodiles, villains… everything they consume flows back to into me."
Her bracelet pulsed. Two tiny buds unfurled where the plucked flowers had been. A sudden drain touched her chest, like strength slipping away. She steadied herself, lips parting.
"So it costs a piece of me," she said quietly, brushing the bracelet. "But it's a fair trade. My roses will gorge themselves soon enough."
Her smile widened, feral. "Soon I'll be rolling in corpses. The whole sewer will be mine."
Turning away, Pamela retraced her steps and found an old couch in one of the side chambers. She sank into it, arms folding, eyes on the bracelet. The roses there glowed faintly in the dim light. She thought about names, about what she would be called when people whispered her name in fear.
"If we're going to build an empire, I need more than Pamela Isley. That name dies here."
She whispered to herself, testing words. "Midnight Rose… roses… thorns… poison. And yes, I've always been toxic. To some, a poison. To others, a Bitch."
Her mouth curved into a slow, deliberate smile. "From this day forward, I'll call myself Poison Ivy." She lifted her wrist, letting the bracelet catch the dim glow of overhead lamps. "This is the day Poison Ivy is born."
Her gaze shifted to her hands, thoughtful. A question gnawed at her chest. "But do I have more than plant control? Is there something else buried inside me?"
She leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the far wall. "I'll need to practice. Push myself. See what else I can do."
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