Wayne Manor – Three Months Later

The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and something darker, something wrong. You stood in the foyer of Wayne Manor, your suitcase still in hand, and stared.

The place was unrecognizable.

Vines snaked up the walls, their leaves glistening unnaturally in the dim light. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors, their petals pulsing faintly, as if alive. The grand staircase was a jungle, the chandelier a tangle of roots.

"Bruce?" you called, your voice echoing in the eerie silence.

No answer.

You dropped your bag, stepping cautiously into the living room. The furniture was gone, replaced by towering plants that seemed to breathe. And there, in the center of it all, was Alfred—standing stiffly, his eyes glassy, a vine coiled around his wrist like a leash.

"Alfred!" you gasped, rushing toward him.

He didn’t react. Didn’t even blink.

And then you heard it—laughter. Soft, melodic, and utterly chilling.

You turned.

Bruce was there. Or at least, his body was. He stood with his back to you, his arms wrapped around her. Poison Ivy. Her hair was a cascade of crimson, her skin glowing with an otherworldly green hue. She whispered something in his ear, and he laughed—a sound so unlike him, so wrong.

Your heart clenched.

"Bruce," you said, louder this time.

He didn’t turn.

Ivy did. Her eyes met yours, and they were cold. "Oh, look," she purred. "The little bird has come home to roost."

You ignored her, stepping closer. "Bruce, it’s me. Look at me."

He turned, finally, and your breath caught. His eyes were glazed, his expression blank. Like a puppet on strings.

"Bruce," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "Please. It’s me."

Ivy smirked. "He can’t hear you, darling. He’s mine now."

You clenched your fists, your mind racing. You’d seen this before—her pheromones, her control. But Bruce was stronger than this. He had to be.

"Bruce," you said, stepping closer still. "Remember. Remember us."

For a moment, nothing. And then—

A flicker. A twitch of his brow. A shadow of recognition in his eyes.

Ivy’s smirk faltered. "Bruce," she cooed, her voice dripping with honey. "Don’t listen to her. She’s nothing."