Night pressed down over Gotham like a suffocating hand.
Lex Williams stood at the edge of the cracked courtyard, staring up at the looming gothic silhouette ahead of them.
Arkham Asylum.
Even in a city famous for monsters, Arkham was in a league of its own.
Blackgate held criminals.
Arkham held nightmares.
If you weren't intelligent enough, dangerous enough, or unhinged enough to personally give Bruce Wayne insomnia, you didn't qualify for admission.
Joker.
Two-Face.
Scarecrow.
Poison Ivy.
And, occasionally, Catwoman—though she'd always treated the place more like an inconvenient timeshare than a prison.
Lex adjusted the strap of his rifle and exhaled slowly.
"Tell me we're not going inside."
John Black smirked. "What? Nervous?"
Barbara shifted her sniper rifle and gave Lex a sideways glance. "Relax. We've got someone who knows the layout better than the architects."
Her tone carried an edge.
Selina didn't look back, but one eyebrow lifted slightly.
Arkham wasn't a fond memory for her.
"Afraid?" Lex said evenly. "No. Just wondering why we picked the worst possible option when half the city still has blind spots worth mapping."
"If you're scared," Selina replied without turning around, "you can stay outside."
She walked toward the rusted iron gates.
John leaned closer to Lex as they followed. "Thermal scans picked up movement inside. Not infected movement. Organized."
"Survivors?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. We confirm. If they're civilians, we extract them to Wayne Manor. If there's salvageable tech inside, we mark it for daylight recovery."
Barbara drew a combat knife and slung her rifle across her back. "Stick close. If our 'guide' vanishes, you'll be wandering padded cells until something eats you."
Lex cast one last look over his shoulder at the empty courtyard.
Retreating alone wasn't safer.
Not in Gotham.
He followed them through the gates.
Inside, Arkham felt less like a building and more like something reclaimed by the earth.
Vines sprawled across walls, ceilings, floors. Some were thick as wrists, others thin and brittle. Most were shriveled, dried into gray husks that crumbled underfoot.
Barbara frowned. "Was it always decorated like this?"
Selina crouched, plucked a strand of vine, and brought it to her nose.
Her expression shifted.
"Poison Ivy."
John stiffened. "She's still here?"
"Maybe," Selina said quietly. "Or she was."
She ran her fingers along a living section—then across a withered one. The difference was stark.
"If she's here," Lex said, "she's not in good shape."
Poison Ivy wasn't just another rogue. She'd controlled Batman with a kiss. She'd gone toe-to-toe with Superman. Plants obeyed her like soldiers.
If her creations looked like this—
Something was wrong.
"Over there," John said.
His flashlight beam landed on a shape against the far wall.
A body.
Entangled in vines like a grotesque cocoon.
They approached cautiously.
The corpse wore black tactical fabric molded to the body. Twin swords rested at its waist. Masked.
League of Shadows.
Lex crouched and removed the mask.
The face beneath was desiccated—skin pulled tight over bone, lips shrunk back from teeth. No moisture. No blood.
"Drained," Lex muttered.
The vines had pierced through armor and flesh alike, threading through the torso like feeding tubes.
Barbara grimaced. "Ivy doesn't do that."
Selina nodded slowly. "Not like this."
Lex studied the withered plant matter. "These vines used him as fuel. Once they stripped him dry, they died too."
John folded his arms. "Why?"
"To survive," Lex answered.
They all went quiet.
If Poison Ivy was still here—if she'd lost control—
This place wasn't just dangerous.
It was unstable.
Selina stood. "We find her."
Barbara had already lost interest in the corpse and moved ahead. John followed.
Lex lingered a second longer.
Something felt—
Wrong.
Soft.
Behind him.
A faint tearing sound.
He turned.
The corpse's right arm snapped upward.
The katana flashed.
Lex threw himself backward as the blade sliced through the space where his throat had been.
The shriveled body tore free from the brittle vines with jerking, unnatural strength.
Dead.
It had been dead.
Lex was certain.
Now it moved—joints stiff, muscles twitching in delayed spasms.
Zombie.
But there were no bite marks.
No torn flesh.
No infection wounds.
The corpse lunged again, blade whistling downward.
Lex rolled, drew his Glock, and fired.
The first shot punched through its shoulder.
No reaction.
Second shot—center mass.
Nothing.
"Head!" Barbara shouted, spinning back toward the commotion.
The ninja moved faster than typical infected—trained muscle memory still etched into decaying tissue.
It slashed horizontally.
Lex ducked under the swing and fired twice into its skull.
The back of its head exploded against the wall.
The body dropped.
Still.
Barbara approached cautiously. "Since when do zombies use swords?"
"They don't," John said grimly.
Lex stared at the vines.
That's when it clicked.
"The plants."
Selina's eyes sharpened. "What?"
"The virus infects animals. Humans. We've seen it mutate wildlife." Lex nudged a vine with his boot. "Why not plants?"
Barbara's expression shifted. "You're saying the vines infected him?"
"He was already dead," Lex said. "They drained him. But if they carried the virus…"
"The body reactivated," John finished.
Selina's jaw tightened.
"That means Ivy lost control."
Or worse.
They moved deeper into Arkham.
The vines grew denser in certain corridors, forming warped archways and crawling across doorframes like veins. Some sections pulsed faintly under flashlight beams—as if something inside still circulated.
The air smelled damp. Sweet. Rotting.
They reached the main atrium.
Moonlight filtered through shattered stained glass, casting fractured color across the floor.
And at the center—
A garden.
Impossible.
Trees grew through cracked tiles. Flowers bloomed in unnatural hues. Vines spiraled upward toward the ceiling like reaching hands.
At the heart of it stood a figure.
Bare feet rooted in soil.
Red hair cascading down her shoulders.
Skin pale as moonlight.
Eyes closed.
Poison Ivy
Alive.
But something was wrong.
Black veins crept faintly beneath her skin, branching like corrupted roots.
The plants around her twitched.
Not gracefully.
Convulsively.
Selina stepped forward. "Ivy."
No response.
Barbara raised her rifle slightly. "She doesn't look good."
Lex felt the air shift.
The vines along the walls began to writhe.
Not under command.
Under impulse.
Ivy's eyes snapped open.
For a split second, they were the familiar emerald green.
Then they flickered—
Clouded.
Feral.
The ground trembled.
Vines erupted from the soil, lashing outward blindly.
One snapped toward Barbara.
Lex shoved her aside and fired into the base of the tendril. Sap sprayed like dark blood.
The severed vine recoiled violently.
"Ivy!" Selina shouted. "Fight it!"
Ivy's lips parted, voice strained. "It's… in the roots…"
Another vine shot toward John. He hacked it apart with his kukri.
The garden was turning hostile.
Not strategic.
Not controlled.
Instinctual.
The virus wasn't just infecting people.
It was infecting her connection to the Green.
And through her—
Everything.
Ivy dropped to one knee, clutching her head.
"Burn it," she whispered hoarsely. "Before it spreads."
Lex met Selina's eyes.
If Arkham became a viral greenhouse—
Gotham wouldn't stand a chance.
The vines surged again.
And this time—
They weren't aiming to capture.
They were aiming to consume.