One prisoner finally had enough of waiting around with the most beautiful woman in the world in the same room as him. His stood up and shouted, prompting dozens of others to do the same. Most ran for the exits as they noticed the gates had locked them in the room, but some eager fellows charged at Ivy as she concentrated on filtering pheromones out of her body manually. The men in the gray correctional officers' uniforms quickly formed a short circle around Ivy.

 

The first prisoner who'd shouted was soon lost as he tripped over one of the other prisoners who hadn't stood up and fell flat on his face. Other prisoners stampeded over him in the confusion as everyone ran in another direction.

 

One man tried to push through both Tim and Bruce to get at the circle. Tim grabbed his wrist and bent it as far back as he could until the prisoner tipped backwards and fell to the floor. Bruce stepped forward and kicked him in the face with the bottom of his boot before he could recover.

 

The other prisoners didn't let the quick fall of this man stop them. They tried to push past them the same as the first man, only to be beaten back by expert swings of the nightsticks. Bruce made certain not to seriously injure any of them; they would all have to walk out of the prison together and anyone rendered unconscious would slow them all down.

 

The prisoners in front all glared at the pair of them, recognizing them to be the only real obstacle between them and Ivy. They shouted and charged again, hoping to overwhelm. Bruce stepped back just as the first man reached out and tried to tackle him. He crashed to the floor, allowing Bruce to jump on top of his back and swing at three others who had targeted him. The three of them ducked away as Bruce stepped off of the prisoner below him, picked him up by his shirt with one sock-covered hand and flung him toward Tim, who had just finished shoving two prisoners into each other. Tim caught and threw him hard enough to send him flying at the others, forcing them back further. The three men untouched backed up into a crowd of other men surging toward Ivy, causing many to stumble.

 

The first man who had attacked the two of them finally found his feet. He raised a fist and yelled, only to find Tim's nightstick enter his mouth point first. He gagged, stepping back away from Tim before he dropped to his knees and vomited. Bruce prodded him in the ribs with his nightstick, causing him to slide to his left in the direction of yet another charging mob.

 

The largest mob yet did not try and shove past them; they seemed to realize that they needed to beat the two of them in order to get past them. Instead, they threw fists and wielded what appeared to be forks and butter knives taken from the floors. 

 

A quick glance at the small circle of guards surrounding Ivy showed him that they were still managing to keep the prisoners at bay, though they had a lot less finesse in their strikes and always struck to deal the most damage. He could also see several men near the back of the mob dropping to their knees and remaining still. They had peaceful smiles on their faces.

 

Bruce turned back just as one man with a fork struck toward his eyes. Bruce sidestepped the attack, bringing his nightstick up and slapping the arm down. His planted a foot against the man's gut and jumped up, clearing his head and landing on the man behind him. Bruce and his chosen platform toppled to the ground, allowing him to spin and swing low at the fork-wielder's knee, dropping him with a howl. 

 

The man beneath him shifted, revealing a knife in his hand that he tried to plunge into Bruce's thigh. Bruce was too quick for him to even bring it down, easily grabbing his wrist and pinning it to the floor before tossing himself up in a backwards handspring and crashing back into his ribs with his feet. The man wheezed, tucking into a ball on his side as other men swarmed them. 

 

Bruce rolled back to his feet and threw his nightstick at the forehead of the nearest man. It bounced right off, landing back in his hand as the prisoner cupped his forehead, stunned. Bruce jumped forward and kicked him in the chest to toss him back again.

 

The first fork-wielder attacked him again, stabbing at Bruce's shoulder. Bruce punched the man under his chin with the hand carrying the nightstick and grabbed the fork from him in one motion. He threw the quadruple-pronged end of the fork up at the ceiling, striking one of the light fixtures and the bulb within. Glass fell from the ceiling, exploding onto the floor in front of all of the prisoners. They stepped back again, a few of them dropping to their knees with contented smiles.

 

Tim appeared to have suffered no harm from that last attack, though he did not have his nightstick anymore. Bruce stood in line beside him, daring the prisoners to try again.

 

They did, shouting once more in a desperate wave attack. Four men with eating utensils went after him while seven men of various weapons targeted Tim.

 

Bruce tripped one with an outstretched leg and struck another one in the gut with his nightstick. He ducked another swing from a prisoner using a dining tray as a weapon, then brought his elbow up and bashed him in the ear. The tray-carrier dropped his rectangular instrument to the floor and cupped his ear. Bruce grabbed the prisoner's free arm and hurled him into a few other prisoners attacking Tim with one spin.

 

Tim appeared to be faring well, having already dropped two men on his own before Bruce's projectile crashed into the others. In return, Dick grabbed a fallen fork and threw it back in Bruce's general direction. He ducked even though it wouldn't have hit him anyway, then watched it soar past him and enter the arm of a prisoner about to assault Bruce from the flank. As the prisoner howled in pain and tried to rip the fork out, Bruce snapped back to his feet and pulled the fork out for him. The prisoner looked at his wound as Bruce flipped the fork around in his hand and jabbed at another man's neck with the handle.

 

He dropped quietly, struggling to breathe. Bruce tossed the nightstick over in his friend's direction, knowing that he'd catch it without even having to look. He returned his attention to the first man he'd tripped, who was on his way toward Ivy through the gap left behind by Bruce and the other guards. Instinctively, Bruce reached toward his waist for a batarang, but found nothing there. He grimaced at the little he could do to stop that man. Hoping that Ivy wouldn't be too displeased with him for failing her, he threw the fork at the back of the man's head.

 

It hit him perfectly in the back of the skull, bouncing off and clanging against the floor. Unfortunately, the fork did nowhere near enough damage to do anymore than annoy the prisoner. He glanced back over his shoulder at Bruce, his face forming a smile.

 

That smile was peaceful. He dropped to his knees as his eyes lost focus.

 

Bruce let out a quiet breath of relief, then turned back to Tim. Only two men in the whole room were not presently under Ivy's control that were still resisting, and Tim held them both restrained. The younger hero looked up at Bruce, imploring him to help restrain one of them.

 

The two of them brought the struggling prisoners over to Ivy's feet. She stood there inspecting the faces of the men who still fought her control, if only just. Bruce wondered whether or not these two men had previously been under Ivy's control at some point in their lives. She gave them each an appreciative nod followed by a kiss on the cheek with her special lipstick.

 

Both men slackened and adopted peaceful, loving expressions. Poison Ivy stood in the center of a sea of adoring prisoners bent to her will. She smiled back at all of them, then signaled at the security camera in the corner of the cafeteria. The gates into the room opened with flashing lights once again, allowing a pair- a man in a police officer's uniform and a woman in a Halloween store issued Catwoman suit- on the outside to enter. Royce and Stephanie pushed their way through the prisoners to reach Ivy.

 

"Mistress," the female newcomer greeted deferentially. "There is one security guard in the prison facility control room."

 

"I sent him there," Ivy replied in a low voice. She looked at Royce. "Go get him back here."

 

"Yes, Mistress," Royce said, hastily turning around and running to the exit where Ivy and the warden had entered. The warden himself was still unconscious, the only one in the room who was not under Ivy's control.

 

Bring him to me, Ivy commanded mentally. Bruce immediately did as ordered, rushing over to the warden and dragging him back over by his collar. The lipstick on his face was not plentiful; he had never been under her control, but it must have taken a lot of willpower to resist even that little bit of it on his skin.

 

 

He deposited the warden onto the floor in front of Ivy, where he was immediately picked up and placed on his knees by two guards. Give me the lipstick. Bruce removed the socks from his hands and extracted the lipstick from his left sock. It was slick with his sweat, so he made sure to wipe it against the driest part of his shirt before handing it over to her. He then stepped around them and stood beside Tim and Stephanie, watching whatever was about to unfold.

 

"I'm not taking any chances with this one," she announced. "Cuff him."

 

A third guard took out a pair of hinged handcuffs and placed them upon the wrists of the still unconscious warden. They snapped into place.

 

Ivy bent over and leaned down into the warden's face, exposing her nearly bare ass to the three bat family members. Bruce felt guilty that he could no longer get an erection just from the sight of her, despite Tim still very clearly being able to do so.

 

"You took the antidote, right?" Bruce asked him.

 

Tim shook his head. "I never got a chance to. The guards watched me the whole time, even guarding me inside of my cell."

 

Bruce grunted. Tim's erection was most likely the result of his voodoo dust commands giving him a need for Ivy. Did that mean that Tim was deeper into Ivy's control than he was? He speculated on it and came to the conclusion that the commands kept him aroused by Ivy at the same time that her own mind controlling chemicals made him happier to be with her.

 

He looked over at Stephanie. She was less easy to read in her catsuit and mask, but Bruce believed that she was turned on by Ivy's outstretched ass just like Tim was, though Bruce could not share in her state of desire at the moment.

 

The warden stirred when the guards shook him awake and slapped him. Bruce could see that Ivy had drawn all over his face (and her lips) with the lipstick this time, covering him in a deep red almost comically. When the warden's eyes finally opened and focused on Ivy, they appeared to be finally showing a genuine love toward Ivy.

 

Yet, it wasn't genuine, was it? How could it be a genuine love if one did not love without the influence of her powers? Without them, he wouldn't be standing behind her and being given the contentment he wanted. Wasn't that a good thing, then?

 

The warden looked at her happily. "Mistress," he said. "How may I serve you?"

 

Ivy, relating satisfaction, sensually stood up straight and leaned back slightly. "Do you know how to access the sewers exit?"

 

"Yes, Mistress," he said proudly. "I know all of the ways out of this prison."

 

The guards, as one, released the warden from their grip yet did not remove the handcuffs, no doubt as a result of a silent command. The warden remained on his knees, grinning as wide as he could.

 

Why had Bruce ever denied himself such happiness? He had spent years resisting her and forcing himself to remain alone. Why was that?

 

She turned to address the general group of prisoners. He saw her and remembered that she had stood against everything he had stood for: a free and safe Gotham City. Poison Ivy had, in much the same way as other criminals, posed such an existential threat to the security of Gotham. And she still did, did she not? Was it not her plan to destroy Gotham, and the world, in her quest to restore nature as the dominant force on the planet?

 

But this was the way things needed to be. He was happy with her, was he not?

 

Was it happiness if he knew he didn't really want to be happy because he wanted something else entirely?

 

What did he really want?

 

Why had he ever ignored these questions?

 

Ivy looked at him and froze. Bruce hadn't noticed it before, but he could feel his jaw quivering, his brow twitching. He could feel his hands- now drenched in sweat- breaking apart from his control, opening and closing on their own. He shook like a spike planted in the ground about to be ripped free by a hurricane. The only question was which way would he be pulled.

 

Ivy cautiously approached him, and Bruce could see the pink haze in the room begin to fade. Lots of the dim pink gas was filtering out of her body at a great pace. Bruce took an involuntary step forward, stepping out of the line formed by Stephanie and Tim.

 

She met him with her left hand gradually tracing along his cheek. "It's alright."

 

Bruce's right arm came up and made a weak attempt to grasp her arm, not even coming close as she flinched back out of his immediate reach. Suddenly, his arms were grabbed and jerked behind his back and pinned together. A high-heeled boot kicked out the back of his legs, forcing him to his knees. He didn't struggle- not voluntarily, at least- but they held him tighter than they would have needed to.

 

Bruce's auditory input became a constant screech, his senses falling into more pieces than Humpty-Dumpty. He was a slave to the overarching feeling of pain, just like he'd always been. That feeling deep inside where you could no longer tell if you wanted to be in pain or if you just wanted the pain to stop. What decision did he need make about it, what choice did he need to make at all, that would change anything?

 

Ivy firmly grabbed him by the sides of his head. "Bruce," she implored.

 

He didn't respond. It was all too much for him, here in this overcrowded prison cafeteria. Decisions, decisions, decisions!

 

She kissed him square on his slightly open mouth, and suddenly the world made sense again. He stopped his shivering motions and grew still again, giving all of himself over to Ivy so that the crippling doubt and lack of judgment would stop. His eyes closed, feeling sweet relief.

 

Ivy slowly pulled back after a long, long time spent pressing her red lips to his. Can you hear me? she asked. A test.

 

Bruce nodded, his facial expression unchanging from the open-mouthed buffoon that had dared try to defy his mistress, the goddess that had given him a new, better purpose than the false dream he had foolishly wasted half of his life on before her. It disturbed him that his subconscious would ever try to break him when he was happily ensconced in his new life.

 

She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but he could tell that she was still concerned. He hated himself for having upset her. Her expression fell after barely a second. His arms were freed, allowing him to cover her hands upon his head with his hands. Bruce conveyed hope to his mistress. It was a strange message; he would always be under her control.

 

Her energizing touch slowly receded from his senses as she stood up. Bruce remained on his knees until she beckoned for him to join her at her side. She took his arm and set it atop her shoulders while she wrapped her arm around his body. Stay close to me, she said. 

 

The handcuffed warden stood up and began leading everyone out through a the exit where he had initially entered with Ivy. Royce and the guard he had been sent to retrieve appeared beside the warden just as he reached the exit.

 

Everyone in the prison followed them out of the cafeteria and down the winding set of hallways. Ivy tried to keep everyone moving, but it was a slow process given the number of injuries- none of them major, mostly consisting of slight fractures caused by rioting and the men in gray who had defended Ivy- and the narrow passageways that didn't accommodate everyone's desires to move quickly. The injured prisoners and guards were carried along by others by Ivy's orders.

 

She held close to Bruce, not breaking contact with him once. She was obviously sticking to him in the event that he had a crisis of faith again. He had no plans to attempt to confuse himself, but it was his subconscious that was endangering him, not his regular thoughts.

 

"Mistress?" Bruce asked tentatively.

 

"Yes, Bruce?"

 

"How long does the voodoo antidote last?"

 

She shrugged into his torso. "Yours lasts six hours or so. Mine was permanent."

 

Bruce nodded. "I think that you should give me new commands with the voodoo dust so that I stay under your command." The dust specifically affected the part of the mind that did not deal with forefront thinking.

 

Poison Ivy seemed thoughtful. "That might work," she said. "We'll try it again when we get back home."

 

"As you command, Mistress."

 

"Yes." She paused. "And don't call me Mistress when we get out of here."

 

Bruce nodded again. "As you command."

 

The warden came to a stop at a small door that he requested be opened for him. On Ivy's word, a guard removed the master key from the man's belt and used it to unlock the door. On the other side, stairs led down to a drainage ditch that abruptly ended in a concrete wall. A rumbling came then, growing in volume until the wall burst into pieces, a giant tendril-like vine opening a tunnel way out.