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"You don't know how dreadfully worried I was, since you all are cherished comrades of mine! And I'd be heartbroken if I lost any of my comrades."
- Douma (Demon Slayer)
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<{Gotham Cemetery, Gotham City}>
<(Bruce Wayne POV)>
"Thank you for coming, Mr. Wayne. Your support in this difficult time of ours is... appreciated." Lucie's father, the same girl David Cain had shot in my Conclave's botanical lab during his armed heist there, said with his voice cracking. He did not cry the way some would expect, but anyone could see he was moments away from breaking. The only reason he had not yet broken down was because of how he still had to appear strong for his grieving wife and younger daughter at his side—people who still depended on him to hold them up.
"It's my duty to be here. Lucie wasn't merely an intern; she was one of the brightest minds in our R&D division. And Wayne Enterprises was lucky to have someone like her working for it. Look, I won't lie; the truth is, in the workplace, her safety was supposed to be my responsibility, but I failed to keep her safe. I will not pretend otherwise—I hold myself partially responsible for her death." I bowed my head to him. "I will understand if you sue my company or me. However, regardless of what you decide, I will do everything I can to ease your burdens, whether through financial support or anything else."
"But it wasn't you who shot her, was it? It was someone else, and whoever did this is still at large. Did the cops even find who pulled the trigger? Will they ever find them? Or will Lucie just become another name swallowed by this cursed city? Are we really meant to forgive and forget when we have no way to punish the man who killed her? Is there nothing we can do to catch that bastard?" A young man standing a little apart from Lucie's family erupted in fury; his eyes were raw with tears. It was none other than Lucie's fiancé—her soon-to-be husband.
"... I could lie like everyone else and give you false hope by telling you that the cops are doing everything they can and they'll find Lucie's killer—but I won't do that. Because the truth is, they probably won't." That reaction passed through the room. Her mother and sister started crying again, while her fiancé and father sank into silent grief, struggling to keep themselves together until I opened my mouth again. "However, I will find him. And when I do, he will not merely go to prison. No—he will go somewhere far worse, someplace he won't be able to return from, no matter his money or influence. This I promise you."
***
<{Batcave underneath Wayne Manor, Gotham City}>
"You shouldn't have said that to Lucie's family. What if they use it to defame you or drag you into a lawsuit? If you want the Wayne name to remain untarnished, you can't make rookie mistakes like this by letting your emotions get the better of you. The League of Assassins taught you exactly what happens when you let your emotions take control, didn't they?" Cortana's hard-light hologram said, her voice threaded with concern as a few metal tentacles aided me with the thought-scrambling pendant I was assembling. It was similar to the device I and those close to me wear to shield our minds, only far more powerful.
"Don't worry, they won't be reporting me. Believe me, people crave vengeance more than notoriety. Humans are greedy, yes, but they're also vindictive. Even if I stepped back, her family or her fiancé wouldn't simply sit idle. This is Gotham. If I'd left them to themselves, this cursed city would have found a way to consume them with its own brand of ruin. Her boyfriend might have wrecked his life chasing a warped sense of justice, or her father could have snapped and become a crook-hating serial killer, dragging the rest of his family down with him. You never know." I shrugged before finally finishing the device.
"Telling them that their chance for retribution wasn't gone and that I would personally see it done was meant to give them a sliver of peace — to let them sleep without driving themselves to ruin in some desperate pursuit of revenge," I explained. "And I do intend to keep my word. They will have their revenge. I will make sure of that. That's the least I can do." The last part was more like a promise to myself. "Anyway, that's enough on that topic. Can we please turn our attention to something more critical — like the unconscious woman in my lab who was literally possessed by the god of plants?"
"Of course, sir." Cortana rolled her eyes. "As per your orders, she's still cryogenically frozen. And after analyzing her biology, I can confirm that the woman calling herself Poison Ivy is indeed Dr. Pamela Isley. There are significant alterations to her DNA and physiology, but she remains human. However, she's a metahuman now — not an ordinary one. The mutated compound V has bonded to her so perfectly on a genetic level that it's almost unrecognizable. Albeit, she's not in any immediate danger due to her physiological changes, but I'm continuing to check for any biological markers or genetic conditions that could become lethal." Cortana explained.
"Did you scan her mind?"
"Yes. And as you suspected, she was being controlled by an unidentified external presence. Her psionic link to plant life, caused by her mutation, made that possible. The thought-scrambling pendant should, in theory, stop any further intrusion by creating an artificial barrier that blocks all psionic signals. But at maximum output, it will interfere with her own abilities since it cuts off both incoming and outgoing signals. We'll need to keep her under observation and run further tests to calibrate it properly — so that it only blocks external influence, not hinders her own powers." She said, her hologram hovering over the egg-like stasis pod where Poison Ivy lay frozen in sleep.
"Should I wake her up?" Cortana asked as the glass of the stasis pod slid open, revealing Poison Ivy's tranquil, frozen form.
"No, let her sleep. She needs rest." I replied, fastening the pendant around her neck before powering it on. "Besides, we need data to confirm whether this thing is functioning properly or not," I added as I closed the pod. "And we've got someone else to deal with right now, remember?" I said, gesturing toward the soundproof cell where Harley Quinn sat sipping tea and reading a book like some refined scholar, all through the one-way glass. "We need to handle her before we reverse the soul-exchange between Diana and Circe or wake up Poison Ivy."
"Sigh, I still don't understand why you can't just send her to a high-security facility instead of keeping her here. Tell me—are you the only one, or do all men have this 'she's broken, but I can fix her' complex?" Cortana clicked her tongue, sounding genuinely irritated. "And if you're so desperate to play house with her since you have a habit of adopting homeless kitties, maybe let Alfred babysit her, and you can focus on something actually useful—like your second super-enhancement or, I don't know, finishing my body."
'So that's why she's irritated… she's tired of waiting on her new body.' I mentally noted to myself as I finally understood the actual reason for her crankiness.
"First, those were some rude words, Cortana. I know you're frustrated because work on your physical synthezoid body is slower than expected, but that's not Harley's fault. Second, I don't have a complex. I just want to make sure she doesn't escape and go on a rampage where I can't monitor her. She might be telling the truth, but let's not pretend she's sane. Even the Amusphere couldn't map her mind reliably, so she could absolutely be criminally insane." I replied with patience. "And yes, I'm aware that she has a... crush on me, but I'm not letting her act on it."
"A crush? Please. In the wise words of an anime nerd—she's a full-blown yandere. And if you're keeping her, then at least upgrade the defenses. This girl has broken out of prison twice—without even trying. Either she has some meta-luck powers or something that just lets life bend around her smoothly without her even trying." Cortana shot back. "Anyway, shall I open her cell? You wanted to have a private chat with Gotham's favorite female clown, didn't you?" She smirked. "Who knows, maybe you can even charm her to the light side with your manly charms."
"Please stop making this sound like some third-rate fetish porn flick, Cortana. You're acting as if I could just... fix her psychosis with a good old fuck or something." I chuckled, hoping she'd laugh. But she only looked at me—deadpan, suspicious—as if fully expecting me to do exactly that.
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