SHADOW OF THE LANTERN

by Arkhaine -- stu05205@aug.edu

Disclaimer: All comic book characters and settings are copyright of DC comics. This story contains mild profanity, references to murder and violence, and descriptions thereof that may possibly offend some readers. Discretion is advised.

Part 1

"AH-HA-HA-HA-HA!"

Few could hear that high-pitched laugh without shivering, for in that laugh rang the merry notes of madness. Only one man could lay claim to the laugh which had been known to strike fear in the hearts of the staunchest men.

That man was currently running down a shadowy side street which, in kinder times, had been known as Park Row. Emerald hair whipped in the wind as he glanced behind him, watching for pursuit. The flush that he felt from running did nothing to bring color to the bone-white cheeks, the flesh of his face remaining the same cadaverous pallor it had been for years. Blood-red lips were twisted upwards in a perpetual grin, and those lips were stretched open to make room for the shrieking merriment that tore from his lungs.

The Joker rounded a corner and immediately fell back against the wall, panting from the effort of running and laughing at the same time. He supposed he could have stopped laughing, but he having entirely too much fun.

He gasped twice for breath, filled his lungs, and then screamed with pure joy.

"WHAT A RUSH!"

Immediately he clapped his hand over his mouth, giggling. Wouldn't do to be heard, nope nope. Tip-toing with the exaggerated finesse of a cartoon character, he hesitantly peeked from around the corner.

Nothing.

"Hah! Lost him." Yes, he had been having fun, although having his escape car just about obliterated put kind of a ding to it. Oh well, life was more interesting that way. Still, things *did* get kind of hairy there for a moment, when that nut in black and orange had jumped from a rooftop had landed on the hood of his car. And plunging that nasty old sword -- had that sword been on *fire?* He could have sworn it had been -- down through the hood and right through the engine block certainly wasn't very neighborly. He had just managed to leap out of the car before it smashed into the back of a parked truck and exploded nicely. But what had *really* made him sit up and take notice was the way Mr. Black-and-Orange had just walked out of the flames, cloak billowing behind him with the thermal breezes. That had just looked so -- so --

Cool. Huh. Uhuhuh. Huhuh.

Almost cool enough to make up for the guy picking such a crappy name. I mean, the guy could have looked like Darth Vader for all the Joker cared -- that was no excuse for naming himself after that stupid orange cat in that Smurfs cartoon. Puh-LEEZE!

And people called him crazy.

Joker took a moment to bask in the glory. He lowered the metal-sided briefcase he had been carrying to the ground, and opened it up. Inside was a single, innocuous-looking cannister, about a foot in length, nestled with loving care in a like-shaped foam cushion. Whoever would have thought that this newly-stolen cannister contained one of the most lethal pathogens human science had ever developed? Of course, by the time *he* was through bonding it with his special Joker-venom (patent pending!), he would make the original virus look like chicken pox. The end result would be a lovely epidemic of smiley-faces, forever frozen in all their rictus glory, courtesy of a series of very lethal seizures.

"And they thought the Clench was bad," the Joker crooned, lovingly stroking the cannister. "Wait'll they get a load of me!" He laughed, then paused. Hmmm. That was kind of catchy.

Snapping shut the locks on the briefcase, the Joker rose to his feet. "Get ready, Gotham City!" he caroled. "I'm gonna spread me a little sunshine!"

"I don't think so, clown."

That voice! That horrible, grating monotone! One of these days, Joker was going to give the voice's owner a huge shot of Primotene . . . followed up with a cyanide chaser, of course.

He turned, reaching into the lapel of his oh-so-stylish purple coat, closing around the gun nestled in a shoulder holster. But before he could draw, the world exploded before his eyes.

"Arrgh!" Doubling over, the Joker rubbed furiously at his eyes, trying desparately to clear his vision. The pistol clattered to the ground, forgotten.

What the Hell had he been hit with? Strobe blinder? Phosphorous flare? Didn't matter. As soon as he got his sight back, he was going to open up a few cans of whoop-ass -- with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

For a few seconds, all he could see was the ghostly afterimage of that damn light. Then his vision cleared completlely -- and Joker gaped.

Somehow in his thrashing, he had gotten turned around, and was now staring at the opposite wall. He hadn't been able to make anything out of the blinding flash, but now he saw the details of that light projected on the brick. The symbol that had become so familiar to him over the years: the silhouette of a black bat in flight, imposed over an oval moon. Only this time, the moon's hue was not that of ethereal pale-gold.

It was green.

Joker whirled as the symbol cut off, and the Dark Knight descended from the rooftop, his boots striking the ground to absorb the shock of the neat landing. Snarling, the Joker raised his hand, flicking out of his sleeve --

A comb.

Calmly, he set to grooming his disarrayed locks Grease-style as he glanced over his adversary. Not much had changed in the lines of the costume itself; bat-winged cloak and cowl with ridged gauntlets and boots. Tights and a shirt with the same oval bat-symbol. However, the color scheme, as well as the basic design, had changed. The cloak and cowl had been darkened from their previous midnight blue to a shimmering black. The gloves and boots, too -- and hey, almost everything else. The only bits of color left in the costume were the utility belt, which had taken an emerald hue, and the shirt. A green inverted triangle extended down from the shoulders to the middle of the chest. Only instead of ending in a point, the lines converged upon the edges of a green (nice change of pace, huh?) oval, the black bat-symbol resting square in the middle.

Nifty. Not superb, but certainly different.

"Like the new look, Bats," Joker commented as he finished grooming. "Especially all that green." He gave his own kelly-colored locks a final pat before putting the comb away.

"Hand over the pathogen, Joker," Batman grated as he took a step foward, the folds of his cloak dropping to cover his front. Now he looked completely like a shadow. Joker didn't like that -- made it too easy for Bats to get the drop on him. And the night was still young; he didn't want it to end so early.

"Not another step, Batsy!" Joker shrieked, snapping open the breifcase and seizing the cannister within. He let the case clatter to the ground as he held up the cylinder. "Another step and I smash this open, and we can have lots and lots of company to join us in Hell -- whomever the wind decides to invite along!" That'd do it. Old Batsy couldn't risk all those innocent lives. He'd back down, and then the fun could *really* begin.

Not this time.

Batman threw out his hand, and Joker had enough time to see a flash of green light before a monstrous bat seemed to materialize out of thin air. It shrieked and dived towards the astonished madman, tearing the cannister from his grip with enough force to make his fingers bleed. And yet, the Joker noticed through the shock, the damned thing hadn't left so much as a scratch in the cannister.

"You were saying, Joker?"

Snarling, Joker threw a punch towards Batman's face. The vigilante sidestepped it easily, throwing the knife-edge of his hand into the madman's solar plexus. Joker fell to his knees as spikes of pain starfished from his diaphragm. He hands clutched at his torso, forcing in a hissing, pained breath.

"Give it up, clown."

Joker just had to laugh in spite of the pain. Give it up? Was he serious?

"Oh, Batsy," he giggled. "You know me better than that." He straightened suddenly, brandishing the flower that decorated his lapel and sending a stream of deadly acid arcing through the air, to hiss and bubble over --

A brick wall?

A glowing *green* brick wall?

Where the Hell did *that* come from?

Joker didn't have time to ponder, as the wall vanished and a black-gloved fist slammed into his face. He felt his nose fold, felt warm blood flow down his chin and front as he staggered back.

"All right, that's it," he mumbled through a mouthful of blood. "No more Mr. Nice Guy." A six-inch stiletto slipped from his sleeve into his hand. Uncle Joker was going to see if Batsy-boy bled green now.

A bo staff materialized in the Batman's hand, hissing through the air with lightning speed. The Joker felt the bones in his wrist snap, felt the knife slip through his fingers as he screamed. He collapsed to his knees, clutching at his injured wrist.

"It's over, Joker." The clown only barely felt the restraints close around his body, seemingly formed from solid green light. As he sunk to the ground, descending into shock, he saw the flashing red lights, could dimly hear the crackle of the police radio. He fought against unsconsciousness, struggled up to the surface as the black-and-white pulled into the alley. There was just one more thing he had to say --

"B'de, b'de, b'de, that's all folks." Then, mercifully, the Joker dropped into blackness.


The roar of the Batmobile's engine echoed and re-echoed throughout the caverns, startling a flock of bats into flight. Alfred sighed as he approached the sleek car, carrying a large covered tray in his hands. He couldn't understand why, with the power of the Green Lantern at his disposal, Master Bruce simply didn't fly from one place to another. Yes, yes, he had heard the speech about not wanting to squander such power, but with all the Green Lanterns flight had seemed to come as a matter of course. Besides, Alfred could imagine how liberating it must feel, to soar the winds without the aid of tethers or lines, the whole of Gotham stretched below you . . . of course, he imagined it would be rather disconcerting to be caught like that if the ring's power started to fade.

"Good evening, Master Bruce," he said politely as the ebon-caped figure stepped emerged from the vehicle. "I trust things have turned out well this evening?"

Batman drew back his hood as he walked past his butler, revealing the face of Bruce Wayne, weary and drawn with the events of the night. The eyes, however, blazed with life, with a spark of triumph over a successful night's work. As Alfred dutifully followed the man he had raised since boyhood, he reflected that this was the real Bruce Wayne; not the carefree millionaire playboy, not the grim and forbidding Dark Knight, but a man who carried more years than he should have been carrying, and who spent a large share of days morose and thoughtful, but was still able to take satisfaction in a job well done.

"They have, Alfred," Wayne responded, addressing his butler's inquiry. "The Joker has been recaptured, and the pathogen is safely locked away in a Star Labs vault. Tonight was good." He seated himself in front of a massive computer while Alfred stood by his side, still bearing the huge tray. "Has Tim checked in yet?" Wayne inquired as he entered the details of the night's escapade into the computer's memory for future reference.

"Master Tim has not, sir," Alfred replied, having seen the young man depart hours beforehand, dressed in his Robin uniform. Wayne frowned.

"I asked him to check in at the top of every hour," he noted, shaking his head. Unconsciously, his fingers flexed, bringing a crystal-metallic ring into view. Gifted with an emerald hue, the ring was worn on the outside of the armored gauntlet, grasping the fabric with no difficulty. Its previous lantern-shape had been replaced with a bat-symbol, raised in slight relief from the surface of an oval signet face.

"Perhaps he is involved in pressing matters, and cannot afford to call in," Alfred suggested, uncovering the tray. "Or perhaps he has forgotten. Or," he added gently, "perhaps he feels you are treating him unfairly by implying he cannot take care of himself, and demanding to know his every movement like a worriesome older brother."

Wayne looked up to see a green artifact balanced skillfully on the silver tray. Taking the form of an artistically-designed lantern, the power battery was the only witness as to the fate of its previous owner, and Batman sometimes found himself wishing that he could tap the powers sleeping dormant within, and force it to reveal what had occured on that day.

"You're right, Alfred," Wayne admitted with a sigh, taking the battery and setting it in his lap. The battery started to hum, and he could feel the ring on his finger vibrate in resonance. He continued to speak as the ring recharged itself. "It's just that . . . ever since Kyle died . . ." He trailed off into silence, and for a few moments, the only sound between the two men was the steady drip-dripping of water somewhere in the caves, and the steady humming of the battery.

"You liked him, didn't you sir?" Alfred asked gently. The younger man didn't respond for a long time, seeming to genuinely think it over. At length, he responded.

"He was young, and undisciplined despite his handling of the ring," Wayne said slowly. "He was impulsive and often times uncontrollable. Neither of those are positive factors when dealing with that kind of power." Another long pause punctuated the cave, before Wayne finished quietly, "But he found himself given a special gift, and he was determined to use that gift to make the world a better place, instead of sitting by and counting on someone else to do the work. I respected that. And no one deserved to die the way he did." Wayne closed his eyes, the horrific image rising before him, unlike anything he had ever seen: the blood-splattered walls, the scraps of flesh, the opened sternum hanging from a ceiling fan. And on top of it all, in seeming mockery, the Green Lantern symbol scored into the far wall, bits of bone and brain embedded in the scratchings.

"I owe it to him to use all the resources at my disposal to find his killer and bring him to justice," Batman said softly, opening his eyes. "Kyle was a good person, and one of the JLA. One of us. He *will* have justice. And besides . . . Earth needs a Green Lantern." He smiled wryly as he withdrew the ring, now fully charged, from the power battery. He was still getting used to the idea of continuing a legacy of cosmic defenders and galactic heroes, as opposed to the shadowy mantle he had taken for himself.

"And I suppose the fact that assuming the role of Green Lantern puts you on a level with other super-powered individuals has nothing to do with it?" Both men knew better, however; the remark was, at best, a back-handed quip. Batman's greatest concern with using the ring was that he would eventually come to depend on it for his edge, as he had with the steriodal drug, Venom, not too long ago. "Are you certain you would not feel safer leaving it in the care of one of the other Justice League members? Or perhaps another party altogether? A former Green Lantern, perhaps?"

Batman shrugged. "Kyle died before he could choose a successor, and without Ganthet or the Guardians to choose, it comes down to a matter of selection. Superman, Wonder Woman, and J'onn all have their own powers, their own responsibilities, to live up to without the added duties of the Green Lantern. Wally was too close to Kyle -- assuming the mantle would be too painful for him. Aquaman doesn't want the power, affirming that his own powers are more than sufficient when dealing with Earth's oceans. I'm inclined to agree with him.

"As for former Green Lanterns, or any who show potential as such, those have come up dead-ends as well. Sentinel has similar powers and seems content with those. The same goes for his daughter and son. Jon Stewart seems content with his life away from the Green Lantern role, due perhaps in part to an incident involving the destruction of a planet, something I'm sure he still feels responsible for. And I'll admit that Guy Gardener and I haven't gotten along in the past, but I honestly don't think he measures up.

"The ring is too powerful to allow to sit in storage, where it might someday be stolen and used for ill purpose. Not to mention the fact that it might help in locating Kyle's murderer. Someone has to use it, someone with both willpower and imagination. And, like it or not, it looks like that someone is going to have to be me."

"Then I wish you the best of luck, sir," Alfred said fervently. "Will you be going out again? It's several hours until dawn." Batman shook his head.

"No, Alfred. I'm still not used to concentrating my will towards making the ring function. I need to rest." Batman rose to his feet, beginning to strip off the green-and-black armored suit, his butler giving a helping hand.

He had created the costume out of the same basic materials as his other suits, Nomex and kevelar, changing the design to reflect his new status. He had removed the utility belt, however, for the sake of reaction time; he found it to be a great advantage when the ring created the tools he needed out of reflex or instict, materializing them at the speed of thought. The new belt was part of the costume, and for appearances only.

He supposed he could have dissolved or altered the costume using the ring, but he didn't like the idea of coming to depend on its power for every aspect of his life. If that happened, his reflexes were bound to sink, something he could not afford. It was healthy to depend on physical means for mundane actions, such as driving and dressing, although he would not hesitate to call upon his costume should an emergency demand it.

"Wake me at five, Alfred," he murmured, heading up the stone steps to the manor above.

"Yes sir," the butler responded, gathering up the costume and taking special care with the ring. He could not help but turn and watch as his master stood at the head of the stairs, his silhouette framed in the doorway, pondering over some matter or another.

Then Batman, the newest and last Green Lantern, was gone.


Part 2

It is written that the sleep of reason brings demons. Although precious few slept the sleep of reason within the walls of Arkham Asylum, demons of flesh abounded in every corner. Locked and bound in tailor-made prisons, those who did not sleep screamed and gibbered into the night. But on this particular night, it was one of those who slept that drew concern from the watchmen.

"She hasn't moved in nearly six hours," the chief of security observed as he donned a special suit. "Even when a body's at rest, there's some kind of motion. Tossing, turning, whatever."

"She's breathing," a guard noted, donning a similar suit.

"I noticed that," the chief said dryly. "That's not good enough. We'd better take a look." He finished sealing up his suit and stepped out the door of the security office. Oxygen hissed as the three made their way down the line of doors, halting as their leader punched in a special code on a nearby keypad.

"Probably nothing," one of the men grumbled. "Waste of time."

"We'll find out soon enough." The locks clicked open in acceptance of the access code, and the three men entered the room.

"Miss?" the chief asked, addressing his comments to the figure who lay in a corner bunk, wrapped snugly in blankets. The low-level light was enough for him to make out the cascade of silken hair that flowed down to touch the floor, and the gentle rise and fall of breath. "Miss, are you all right?"

No answer. Cautiously, the chief reached out his hand, heavily gloved in layers of protected clothing, and drew back the blankets. "Christ!"

A grinning skeleton of petrified wood leered up at them. Mucous-like slime oozed from viney tubes as they siphoned into the spongy mass where the heart should be, causing it to expand and contract in mimicry of breathing. The luxuriant, fiery hair was the only thing that looked even remotely human, and attached to that impossible monstrosity, it seemed a grotesque mockery of humanity itself.

"Someone'd better call Doctor Arkham," the chief said through numbed lips. "Poison Ivy has escaped."


"Tim! Phone!"

The best Tim Drake could manage was a muffled "Mmrph." Which, under the circumstances, was pretty good. He had gotten in literally at the crack of dawn, almost too tired to change out of his Robin costume before getting to bed. It had not been a good night, and the prospect of having to explain to Batman why he hadn't reported in last night didn't make it any better.

With Herculean effort, Tim managed to haul his body (which felt like it weighed a ton) out of bed, padding down the hall to pick up the phone. "Nnh, hello?"

"Tim?"

The youth snapped wide awake, his mind clearing as he recognized the grating voice at the other end of the line. What was *he* doing on the phone? He *never* called here! "Umm, yes?" he asked, glancing down the hall to see of anyone was listening.

"I'd like to talk with you. Can you meet me in Gotham Park, around sunset?"

"Sure," Tim replied, trying to keep his voice neutral. "I think that's okay."

"Thank you." Click.

Tim stared at the receiver dumbly, listening to the dialtone. What was *that* all about. Shrugging, he figured he'd find out at sunset, and made his way downstairs for breakfast.


Gotham Park was actually rather nice, if you ignored some unsettling facts. Free of the city's usual architectural pattern of arched peaks and stone gargoyles, the sculpted hedges and tranquil setting made for a fine afternoon. However, when night fell, the park became one of the most frequented sites for muggers and gang members.

Tim was trying not to think about that as the light began to fade from the sky. He had spent the day wondering about this meeting, wondering what could be so important that it could not wait for his presence at the Batcave.

"Thank you for meeting me here, Tim." Drake looked up to see his partner, looking like he had just gotten off from a day at the office. Dressed in an expensive-looking suit and tweed coat, he carried a leather briefcase in one hand.

"I wanted to talk something over with you before we went on patrol," Bruce said, taking a seat on the bench, "and I felt it was best we did so outside."

Tim felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Look, if it's about not reporting in last night, I was in the middle of a huge drug bust. I couldn't -- "

"Tim," Bruce interrupted, holding up a hand. "It's all right. I'm not mad."

Drake stopped. "You're not?"

"No. In fact, I think I owe you an apology."

The youth stared, speechless.

"You're a young man, and extremely capable," Bruce went on to say. "I wouldn't have made you my partner if I didn't believe that. I had no right to ask you to report in every hour. It's just that . . . ever since Kyle died, I've been conscious about the dangers we face every night. The dangers *you* face. I just don't want to lose you." He bowed his head as he added quietly, "You mean too much to me."

Drake stared for a long moment, unable to believe what he was hearing. But as his mind took in the words, he felt a warmth bloom in his heart, that his usually taciturn and controlled partner would show a part of his soul in concern for his safety. "Thanks, Bruce," he said, not quite sure what else to say.

That seemed to suffice, however; Wayne nodded, a grateful look flitting across his features before vanishing quickly. Silence fell between the two as she shadows lengthened. Then, Drake noted, "You know, you've really changed. Calling me at home, talking to me like this. You're not at all the same."

Bruce considered this for a long moment before answering, "My life isn't what it was."

Automatically, Drake's gaze flicked to his partner's third finger, but of course it was bare. "You might want to start wearing the ring during the daytime," he noted. "If you want to use it to help catch Kyle's killer, it won't do you much good locked away in the storage vault."

Bruce considered this for a long moment as well before responding. "I don't want to become addicted to its use. I don't want to have all my abilities revolve around a single tool, powerful as it may be."

"I don't know," Drake said thoughtfully. "I didn't talk much with Kyle, but from what I came to understand, the Green Lantern ring isn't just a tool. It's a symbol, a sign of the office and the responsibilities they handle. It reflects on how they relate to those they protect. Maybe . . . maybe that's why you don't like wearing it?" Tim suggested. "Maybe because you're afraid that the responsibilities it entails will override your own? Override your promise?"

Bruce stared. For someone so young, Tim had made a very astute observation. It was unsettling -- more so because there was a little truth to it? Bruce opened his mouth, whether to deny or confirm was uncertain even to him. But at that moment, Tim grabbed his arm, staring at the sky.

"We've gotta go." Bruce followed his gaze upwards to catch sight of the ghostly-pale circle cast against the darkening clouds, the shadow of a bat caught within its confines. The signal.

They were needed.


"We're not sure exactly when Ivy escaped," Gordon explained. "She must have planned it pretty far in advance; that dupe in her bed must have taken weeks to grow -- months, were it not for her techniques in plant-growth acceleration."

"Any idea as to when she escaped?" Robin smiled as he glanced at his partner, a shadow among shadows on the darkened rooftop. Even with the ring and the new costume (which personally, he didn't like), the keen analytical mind that had earned Batman the title of "The World's Greatest Detective" had remained unchanged.

"We found traces of a mild hypnotic in the bloodstream of an orderly," Gordon replied. "Enough to make the events of the last few nights fuzzy. We believe that's also how she got her hands on the materials she needed to create that thing."

"Any leads on where she may be hiding?" Batman asked.

"None so far. We're checking out all her old hangouts, but so far we've come up with a blank. I'd like to believe that she's left Gotham City, but unfortunately that's only wishful thinking."

"Thanks, Jim. Keep me posted." Batman turned, making his way to the edge of the rooftop.

"One other thing," Gordon called. "Your recent catches have been babbling about ghostly shapes and green light, and the press is beginning to make connections between your newest stunts and the disappearance of the Green Lantern. And I noticed the costume change and the ring -- care to explain?"

Batman paused on the ledge, half-turning his head to consider his friend's question. Robin stood at his side, wondering how he'd handle this.

"Some other time, Jim," he responded at length. So that was how -- evasively, as usual. Looks like intelligence wasn't the only thing that didn't change.

Robin leaped from the rooftop, hearing his partner follow only a heartbeat behind him. The distance rushed past his face as the pavement reached up to him. Slipping a grapnel from his utility belt, the Boy Wonder threw it outwards, feeling it catch onto a piece of statuary. He jackknifed his body as the line grew taut, swinging outward in a sweeping arc and releasing the rope to land solidly on the ground.

"Any ideas?" he asked as the Batman landed beside him.

"None right now," the Dark Knight replied, his own line dissolving in an emerald glow. "The next move is up to Poison Ivy." The ring pulsed dimly on his hand as he spoke. He had already learned how to scan energy signatures with it; he now had it tuned to the police band and the television frequencies, monitoring them for any mention of Poison Ivy.

"So what do we do in the meantime?"

"We wait," Batman replied, making his way to the car. As it turned out, they didn't have to wait long.


// -- reporting live from the Gotham reservoir. Gigantic plants seem to have taken root within the maintenance station, clogging up the pipes and cutting off water to half of Gotham City. There is a possibility that this occurrence is linked -- //

Batman didn't need to hear any more as he jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left, cutting into the next lane and ignoring the honking of an angry motorist behind him.

"Let me guess," Robin said slowly, trying hard to swallow his pounding heart. "Ivy?"

Batman nodded as the announcer's voice grew fainter, rejoining the murmuring chorus at the back of his mind. "The reservoir. She's cut off the city's water supply."

"Huh? Why would she do that?"

"Who knows what a mind like hers is thinking? She probably figures her genetically altered creations could benefit from the water more than humans could."

"Either that, or she wants to get your attention." A glittering glance was the Boy Wonder's only response, and as Batman turned his attention back to the road, Robin replayed what he knew about Poison Ivy in his mind.

Once a brilliant horticulturist named Pamela Isley, her life was changed forever as a result of a series of cruel experiments. Her blood had become a mass of toxins, making it impossible for any to touch her without absorbing a lethal mixture into their bodies. She had withdrawn from humanity, taking solace in her love of plants. Over time she learned to control the toxicity levels transmitted through her skin, as well as her pheromone levels, making her capable of literally bending men to her will. Taking the name Poison Ivy, her sole concern now was for the plants she loved, and to that end she had lied, cheated, stolen, and even killed to continue caring for them.

Somewhere along the way, she had developed an attraction for the Batman. Robin wasn't sure where the attraction stemmed from -- perhaps because he was the one man she could not dominate. Though the attraction certainly wasn't mutual, Ivy had convinced herself she was completely in love with Batman, and pursued that end almost as relentlessly as she did her other.

"We're here." Robin was jarred out of his thoughts as the Batmobile came to a stop.

From the outside, the building looked quiet enough -- until one took in the masses of vines that hung in the windows. Reporters and TV crew clustered outside, separated from the site by officers and yellow tape. The Dynamic Duo had no trouble getting past any of them, and into the maintenance building itself.

"It's a jungle in here," Robin noted. "Literally." Vegetation crowded over the floor and walls, almost obscuring the pipes and stonework. The temperature and humidity were like that of a rainforest, and he felt his armored costume clinging to his skin. He watched as Batman reached up to pluck at a strand of vine wrapped around a pipe.

"I recognize this species of vine," Batman noted. "Rare. All these tendrils are connected to a central root-mass."

"Great. Only how do we find it?" A low growl cut off any reply the Dark Knight might have given, and both turned to behold a create that looked more at home in Gotham Park. Given the shape of a tiger, the plant-creature slowly advanced, its leaf-like body giving off a rustling sound as its tail twitched back and forth.

"One of Ivy's hybrids." Created using genetic protocols from both plants and animals, the plantlike imitation had all the animation and instinctual ferocity of a living animal. In this case, the tiger was showing all the signs of hunger as it circled the two.

Robin tensed, his hand slowly reaching for his utility belt. He wasn't sure if he had anything that could stop a tiger. Maybe a Batarang right between the eyes --

"Let me," Batman murmured. Green light coalesced into solid bars as a cage formed around the hybrid, who responded by snarling and throwing itself against the bars with no effect.

"So," a low, honeyed voice reflected. "The rumors were true."

Both men whirled to behold a vision crafted from a dream. Silken green hose clung to shapely legs, slim with a dancer's hidden strength. Green leaves covered the sensuality of her hips, the soft curve of her breast as it took in breath and released it with a sigh. Lips as red as blood roses parted slightly, and dazzling green eyes were framed by hair of spun flame. The fact that death lurked behind these features only made them more exciting.

Robin felt his breath catch in his throat, felt his blood race with heat. He tried to think of his father, of his girlfriend, of his partner who was counting on him, but to no avail. He was caught; fantasies filled his mind of what lay underneath the leafy costume, of how her skin would feel under his hands as he tore the flimsy-looking cloth away. He did not even hear the faint rustling above him, or feel the coiled weight drop around his shoulders.

"I like the costume change, Batman," Poison Ivy purred as she stepped closer. "You look sooo delicious in green."

"What -- what's your game, Ivy?" Batman rasped, feeling sweat break out over his body, suddenly burning with an inner fire. He realized that the altered plant life that filled the room was somehow augmenting the pheromones that pervaded the air. On previous occasions, he had managed to fight the allurement long enough to act. Now, he discovered he couldn't even take a single step through the blazing, animalistic heat.

"Why, it's really very simple." Ivy stepped closer, reaching out to trail her fingers over the symbol on his chest. "The more water my plants take in, the stronger they grow, and the more water they drink. Gotham City will be as dry as a desert within a matter of hours -- unless they pay me five million dollars. Enough for me to set up my own ecological retreat, safe from mankind's decimation and pollution." She leaned closer, her hair trailing over his cheek, her lips a bare inch apart from his as she whispered, "There could even be enough left over for a private little grove. With just . . . enough room . . . for two."

Fire arced through his skin at her light touch. Her breath was as hot as a Saharan wind, yet sweeter than jasmine and sage. He felt his head tilt slightly, reaching down to meet those lips, to crush against them and give vent to the flames within him. Telling himself it was all chemical didn't help -- the pheromones had him under their spell.

Have -- have to -- shut them out --

Air hissed around him, and suddenly his head cleared. He blinked, drawing back, and glanced down at himself to discover a green glow surrounding his form. He grinned; the protective field had been designed to protect Green Lanterns against the vacuum of space, providing an independent supply of oxygen and maintaining temperature and pressure. Although his body had been held in thrall, his mind had struggled for freedom, and must have unconsciously activated the ring, cutting off the pheromones.

Ivy drew back, feeling the protective aura repulse her hand. She knew something was wrong as she watched the feral, triumphant grin spread over the Dark Knight's features. "Obviously, you need convincing," she murmured, making a hidden gesture.

With a roaring scream, something slammed into the Batman, knocking him aside. He rolled with the impact, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he sprung to his feet. The hybrid plant-gorilla screamed again, swinging its clublike arm.

Batman ducked the blow easily, hearing the air hiss above his head. Going low, he darted between the gorilla's legs, turning to deliver a solid double-kick to its rump. The creature gave an enraged roar as it went tumbling forward, only to spring easily to its feet.

Green fire exploded from the Batman's gauntlet, singeing the hybrid, and its scream was one of pain this time as it went scurrying away. Batman watched it as the miniature flamethrower disappeared from his arm.

"Ba -- Batman -- "

He whirled to see his partner caught in the grip of yet another hybrid, this one a boa constrictor. Robin was struggling for breath, a bat-shaped cutting blade in his hand, slashing desperately at the creature. Unfortunately, the boa seemed to be made of a stronger material than the other hybrids, for it only squeezed its coils tighter, and the blade fell from nerveless fingers.

A Japanese katana-longsword appeared within the Batman's grip, and giving a short "Kiyah!" cry, he scythed it through the hybrid's body. The fluronic serpent slid lifelessly to the ground, and Robin struggled for air as he fell to his knees.

"Are you all right?" Batman asked. Robin nodded as he clutched as his throat, then reached out a shaking hand to point. "Ivy -- "

She was running towards a patch of undergrowth against the far wall, presumably to an exit hidden behind it. Emerald light solidified around her like a shroud, and she fell to the ground, struggling against the polymer-like material.

"The shroud will provide her with oxygen," Batman noted as he helped his partner to stand. "At the same time, it will keep her pheromones from escaping into the air." Which left the enhanced pheromones lingering in the room to deal with.

Emerald light glowed again, and the ventilation shafts hissed with the sudden appearance of a vacuum inside them. The provocative scent was drawn from the room, to disperse harmlessly in the open air outside.

"Nice," Robin rasped, tasting copper in his still-sensitive throat.

"Thanks. She said the city would be dry in hours," Batman recalled. "I'm guessing the main root-mass is underwater, inside the reservoir itself."

"Great." The youth rubbed at his throat, his voice beginning to smooth out. "We can't use herbicides unless we want to poison everybody, and I'll bet there's a bunch of hybrid barracuda waiting for divers. How do we get to it?"

Good question. The Bat-sub might have been able to clear the mass, but there was probably all manner of vegetation in the water that would clog the intakes, stalling the submersible. Depth-charges were out of the question -- assuming they didn't contaminate the water, bits of the root-mass might regrow into new plants. Batman frowned. What was he going to do?

Wait a minute. He was thinking too technically. Go back to basics. Reason it out. What agent could destroy plants, yet remained relatively safe to humans?

Animals. Fire. Natural forces --

The ring glowed. And suddenly, Batman had his answer.

Raising his hand above his head, the ring began to glow brighter and brighter, until the unearthly green light filled the entire room. Sweat broke out underneath the Batman's mask; he could feel his teeth clench as he focused every ounce of willpower towards a single, unyielding purpose.

Outside, press and police alike turned their heads as the emerald light flooded the windows. Voices rose in excitement -- they knew who had to be in there, and what he was using. The reporters pressed against the police line eagerly, wanting the opportunity for a photograph, for an interview, for any confirmation to give substance to the rumors they had been hearing.

"Stay back!" One of the policemen shouted, trying to hold the line. "Stay back, dammit! I -- what the hell is that?"

The crowd fell silent as a horrible crackling filled the air, deafening in the night air. Then one of the reporters shouted, pointing past the building. "The water!"

The people could only gape as they saw mist rise up from the reservoir -- mist that came from the thousands of gallons of water which had suddenly frozen to ice.

"Jesus," one of the cops whispered as he tested the surface, expecting a thin film. "It's frozen all the way down!"

"All right, people," Commissioner Gordon barked. "Let's get inside." Every glance towards the Commissioner was filled with awe and admiration, that he could remain unfazed by such an occurrence. Gordon merely took it in stride as he walked towards the main doors; having worked with the Batman for years, he had come to expect surprises.


"All of Ivy's plants are dead or dying," Gordon reported hours later, hidden in a dark corner away from the press and the cleanup crew. "Even after you turned the ice back, the temperature was still too cold for them to survive. There's some damage to the pipes and the stonework from the water that froze inside them, but that's all repairable. A water supply definitely isn't."

Batman nodded, keeping to the shadows alongside of his partner. "What about Ivy?"

"She's being shipped back to Arkham. They're going to make sure that the personnel, volunteers and full-timers, are thoroughly briefed on security protocols from now on. I wish I could believe that would put an end to the escapes."

"So do I, Jim," Batman replied.

"I have to say I'm impressed with your performance tonight," Gordon noted, polishing the lenses of his thick-framed glasses. "Although everyone saw that green glow, the press doesn't have anything solid. You can look forward to more rumors."

"Terrific," Batman said dryly.

Gordon turned his head as one of the cleanup men dropped a wrench with a loud, resounding *clang.* "I think we've got things pretty much wrapped up -- "

He turned back to discover he was talking to empty air. He sighed as he shook his head, giving voice to a sentiment that Robin had held only a few hours' before.

"Some things never change."


"Beef stew, Master Tim," Alfred announced, handing a covered bowl to the youth.

"Thanks, Alfred. After nearly being strangled to death by a giant boa-hybrid, I don't feel like having salad right now." Drake had removed his uniform, sinking gratefully into a chair. He uncovered the bowl, smiling at the rich smell that wafted up.

"Where's Bruce?" he asked as he ate, mindful of his still-sore throat as he watched Alfred bustle around the kitchen.

"Down below, I believe," Alfred replied.

Alfred was correct -- Bruce sat in front of the Batcave's computer, gazing at the monitor. Unlike his ward, he had not removed the whole of his uniform, contented with drawing back his mask as he worked. It lay hood-like over his back as he stared at what was displayed before him.

Kyle Rayner's obituary. The Justice League had decided to wait awhile after Kyle's death was announced before announcing the death and replacement of the Green Lantern, to avoid drawing suspicion as to Kyle's dual life and endangering his family and loved ones. Although he hadn't attended the funeral -- there was no feasible explanation behind millionaire Bruce Wayne's paying his respects to a teenager he never met -- he had returned to the cemetery after it closed, to pay his respects in quiet privacy.

Tim was right, Wayne realized. I *am* afraid of giving up my responsibilities. That's why I never wore the ring during the day. But that's not fair to Kyle -- I owe it to him to find his killer and bring him to justice. And I won't be able to do that at night, when I have to concentrate on patrols.

There was something else he realized; use of the ring was becoming more natural to him. He had used it to monitor frequencies when the police scanner in the Batmobile would have sufficed, and he had used it to protect himself from Ivy's influence when he should have relied on his own discipline. Was he beginning to become addicted to the ring's power?

No, he realized. He was beginning to adapt to it.

**In brightest day, in blackest night/No evil will escape my sight . . .**

The words echoed within his mind. The Green Lanterns' oath, made famous by one of the greatest Green Lanterns of all time, Hal Jordan. Not so different from his own oath -- he, too, had sworn to seek out evil wherever it lay. But he had kept to the blackness of night to do his work. The role of the Green Lantern demanded more -- it demanded eternal vigilance against all dangers that the people of the Earth threatened. Not just against the common thug or lowlife crouching in the alleyway, but also against foes like Sinestro and Doomsday, who had come from beyond the stars to crush the life out of this precious planet. The work of the Green Lanterns was not carried out in the darkest hour of the night, but in a blaze of emerald glory that reached beyond the stars.

Batman wondered just how long he would be able to continue his own dark existence before having to fully take up the legacy that came with the Lantern ring.

And it was with those thoughts that he fell into a troubled sleep before his computer, to dream green dreams and await the onset of the new night.

To Be Continued...

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