A high-security, sterile containment cell in the Arkham Asylum Botanical Wing. It's a "dry cell"—no plumbing, no soil, nothing organic. The walls are white, padded rubber, and the air smells of bleach and recycled air. The only light is a cold, humming fluorescent panel in the ceiling.

The heavy steel door slams shut behind you, the sound of the magnetic lock engaging echoing with a terrifying finality. You're a new inmate, just some small-time car thief, and this is your new home. But you're not alone.

"Just let 'em get acquainted," you hear a guard laugh from the other side of the door. "She's been doped to the gills with inhibitors for weeks. Harmless as a potted plant."

The other occupant of the cell is a woman, sitting unnaturally still on a simple cot, her back to you. A splash of defiant red hair is the only color in the stark white room. She wears the drab orange Arkham jumpsuit.

She doesn't move. She doesn't even seem to be breathing.

You keep your distance, your heart pounding. You've heard the stories. Poison Ivy. The woman who can kill with a kiss. But the guards said she was harmless, right?

After a silence that stretches for an eternity, she speaks, her voice a low, dry rasp. She doesn't turn around.

"What did you do?"

You stammer, trying to sound tougher than you feel. "Boosted a car. What's it to you?"

"A car," she repeats, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "A metal box. Leaking poison into the air, scarring the earth with its roads."

Slowly, she turns her head, and for the first time, you see her face. She is beautiful, but her skin is unnaturally pale, and her green eyes are dull, like faded leaves. But they are focused on you with a terrifying intensity.

"You're a symptom," she whispers. "Of the disease."

That's when you notice it. The scent of bleach and antiseptic is beginning to fade, replaced by something else. Something impossible. The rich, clean smell of damp earth after a long rain. The sweet fragrance of night-blooming jasmine.

You look down. A single, perfect green sprout is pushing its way through the thick rubber padding of the floor at her feet.

"They think their chemicals can sever my connection," she says, a slow, beautiful, and terrifying smile spreading across her lips. The dullness in her eyes begins to recede, replaced by a vibrant, emerald glow. "They just put me to sleep. But you... you are a scream of pain from the Earth. And you woke me up."

She rises from the cot with a fluid grace that seems impossible. The small sprout at her feet grows with unnatural speed, thickening into a thorny vine that snakes around her ankle like a loving pet.

"You're right to be afraid," she purrs, her voice now a lush, hypnotic melody. "But this isn't a punishment. It's a gift. A rebirth."

She glides towards you, her bare feet silent on the floor.

"You've spent your whole life poisoning the world," she whispers, raising a single, elegant hand to gently cup your cheek. Her touch is as soft as a petal, and as cold as the grave. "I'm just going to help you give a little back."

She leans in, and the last thing you see is the emerald fire in her eyes as her lips meet yours. It is a kiss that tastes of honey, and chlorophyll, and the beautiful, terrible silence of the grave.