Brooks knows practically everything—right down to the most secretive developments at Babylon Labs and the Nidavellir workshop.
These projects are not just science experiments; they represent a significant investment and take up a considerable portion of the company's budget. Heather, ever mindful of finances, never misses an opportunity to chide me for what she perceives as my excessive extravagance.
It's true that I have a penchant for indulging in things that catch my fancy, but there is often a method behind the madness. Still, none of that compares to the curiosity that recently got the better of me.
What was it that compelled Natasha Romanoff to ask for a leave of absence from her duties? Even more puzzling, what prompted Nick Fury himself to call back his top agent? These must be matters of national importance, I assumed—big enough to demand their complete attention and utmost discretion.
Despite the intrigue swirling around their secretive affairs, it does not trouble me much. What matters most to me is that my financial analyst returns to focus on her primary duties. After all, there is no shame or harm in a little side hustle. Not everyone has it easy, and some of us have to juggle multiple roles to keep everything running smoothly. I admire those who can balance many responsibilities, even if it means stretching themselves thin.
Heather, after a brief moment of reflection on her colleague's secret life, pushed those thoughts aside. She redirected her attention to the fruit laid out before us—a vivid, colorful display that could not go unnoticed. Naturally, I was not averse to sampling some of these juicy fruits myself. And what a difference they made.
The fruits were noticeably distinct from their typical counterparts, surpassing ordinary varieties by a significant margin in both flavor and vitamin content. The credit for these remarkable fruits—and the vegetables that accompanied them—belongs to our gifted botanist, Pamela Isley.
She was generous enough to present these edible fruits of her labor for the celebration. It was her mastery of chlorokinesis—the power to manipulate plants—that allowed her to develop such improved varieties. Thanks to her efforts, our guests could savor dishes that were not only delicious but also immensely healthy.
The idea of Pamela launching these new varieties under her own brand crossed my mind and sounded like an excellent business prospect. Why not? She certainly had the expertise and creativity to make it work. The lush forest giant that filled the vast hall with the scent of fresh pine needles was also her creation.
This magnificent tree had been nurtured lovingly by the Poison Lady herself. It grew and spread its heavy green branches all the way to the ceiling, creating an almost magical canopy. The strands of shimmering garland light could barely pierce the dense thicket of its shaggy needles.
Not many of the guests realized this living marvel was truly alive—in the most literal sense. The mighty spruce could move freely around the hall if it wished, but the dryad mother gave strict orders for it to remain rooted in place during the event. Convincing Bruce Wayne to allow such a monster into his home was no small feat.
He adamantly refused at first, unwilling to let a creature associated with a former eco-villain cross his threshold. But, as you might expect, I was able to persuade the skeptical Dark Knight to grant permission for Pamela to nurture her pine here.
The key to my argument was that it could serve as a bridge to build trust between Bruce and Ivy. Ever since Poison Ivy discovered that Bruce Wayne was, in fact, Batman, their relationship had grown noticeably strained. I assured Gotham's protector that if he showed sincerity toward the former eco-terrorist, she would likely respond in kind. Whether this plan would bear fruit remained to be seen.
While I was still lost in thoughts about the enigmatic dryad and her mighty arboreal offspring, Pamela herself finally made her entrance. She arrived alongside her colleague, Kavita Rao. It was a surprise for everyone to see the scientists from Babylon Labs dressed in such elegant attire for the celebration.
Pamela was wearing what could only be described as a swimsuit fashioned from green leaves. This living garment perfectly hugged her curves, displaying her flawless figure in a way few would dare to match. And I suspected that this revealing attire was grown by Pamela herself—which was only fitting. After all, it's incredibly convenient to be your own designer when your wardrobe is literally part of you.
Dr. Kavita Rao, on the other hand, appeared in a stunning red silk sari—the traditional dress of India and a symbol of cultural pride in the Hindi-speaking world. The sight of her in this exquisite garment was unfamiliar to me; I couldn't recall ever seeing her wear anything beyond her usual white lab coat.
Without a doubt, that night, Kavita Rao became one of the celebratory highlights, her striking appearance adding rich, vibrant colors to the festive atmosphere. It was a pleasant surprise, and I found myself genuinely delighted.
"Ladies, you look incredibly dazzling this New Year's Eve," I greeted both women with a slight bow, a gesture of respect and admiration.
"Thank you... we know," Kavita replied with a smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as if to punctuate the lighthearted exchange. "But shouldn't you be more interested in the Lazarus Pit cure?"
"Hmm... no, I am still far more captivated by your beauty than some green elixir," I responded with teasing affection.
"I could gaze upon such grace forever," I added, my eyes softening as I looked at them tenderly.
"We got the message," Pamela said coolly, trying to mask her blush with a show of indifference. But the faint pink tint on her ears gave away her true feelings. Kavita stepped forward and handed me a small box, artfully wrapped with a gladiolus flower.
There was no doubt that this exquisite presentation was the handiwork of Poison Ivy herself. Only she possessed the skill to transform an ordinary box into such a work of art.
"Girls, you've really outdone yourselves," I said appreciatively.
"Is there something you don't like?" Ivy snapped, a sharp edge in her voice.
"Absolutely not," I said quickly, waving her off. "It's perfect. I'm just a little surprised by this rare show of tenderness and sentimentality from you."
"Hmph." The dryad snorted but crossed her arms with a hint of pride. "You said you wanted to give the medicine to a respected person on New Year's Eve."
"Well, we made it just in time," Kavita said calmly as she adjusted the hem of her sari. "The drug has passed all clinical trials and is ready for use."
I looked solemnly at the small gift box, inside of which lay the Lazarus Pit elixir—the result of Professor Rao's tireless research and dedication. This version was perfected to be free of side effects, diluted tenfold compared to the original, yet its value was no less monumental.
Truly, it was a priceless gift because life itself is the rarest treasure of all. Sadly, most people only know existence rather than truly living. After expressing my heartfelt thanks to the scientists once again, I moved across the room to the fireplace. The logs still crackled warmly, their flames casting flickering reflections that danced across the faces of those gathered near.
Around the hearth stood the entire Bat-Family: Bruce Wayne, his adopted son Dick Grayson, his biological son Damian Wayne, his trusted butler and father figure Alfred Pennyworth, and his sharp-witted apprentice Barbara Gordon.
It looked like the perfect setting for lighthearted conversation, gentle teasing, and the kind of camaraderie we all cherish. Of course, I would never dare to make fun of Gotham City's greatest scourge or his former sidekick—at least not without a very good reason. But the warmth of the fire, the company of trusted friends, and the significance of the evening all contributed to a rare moment of relaxed joy—a simple celebration of life, friendship, and new beginnings
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