Gotham City
The rays of the sun managed to break through the gray clouds, fragmenting as they collided with the city's dark, jagged architecture. The elongated shadows of gothic buildings stretched across the streets while a cold, desolate breeze swept through the air, like a constant whisper that never left Gotham.
The Carmine Hotel stood out among the surrounding buildings. Its gothic architecture not only harmonized with the city, but seemed like a natural extension of it. Beyond its appearance, however, the hotel possessed a singular reputation: it was one of the safest places in Gotham.
The reason was simple.
The Falcone family.
No local gangster, no matter how reckless, would dare provoke one of the oldest and most established mafia families in the city. The Carmine Hotel was, in essence, part of their territory.
…
It was 8:00 in the morning.
Pamela Isley let out a small yawn as she passed through the hotel's back door and headed toward the dressing room. Her long, vivid red hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, contrasting with her pale skin. Despite the morning fatigue, her presence carried a natural, almost wild beauty.
She had barely entered to change when María—a coworker and close friend—burst in behind her, visibly excited.
"I heard that a very handsome man stayed here last night. Did you know that?"
María didn't wait for an answer and continued talking, wearing an exaggerated smile.
"They say he's even more handsome than a movie star."
Pamela simply nodded indifferently.
It wasn't the first time she had seen María behave like that. Before, she might have felt a flicker of curiosity, but now she didn't care much. For Pamela, men occupied a very secondary place in her life. She far preferred the tranquility of plants, the scent of fresh flowers, and the calm she found among green leaves and vines.
Ignoring her friend, Pamela went to carry out her first task of the day: delivering clean clothes to the guests in the VIP suites.
Standing before one of the doors, she gently knocked with her knuckles, mentally rehearsing her routine greeting… until a voice interrupted her.
"Come in."
The voice was firm, deep, and strangely magnetic.
Pamela felt something inside her relax.
—He has a pleasant voice… she murmured almost without realizing it.
She opened the door.
And what she saw was etched into her memory.
The small balcony of the room was open, allowing sunlight to flood the interior. That light fell directly upon the tall, majestic figure of Axel, outlining his silhouette as if the dawn itself had chosen him as its focal point.
Pamela stood motionless, stunned, unable to react for several seconds.
Axel slowly turned, his gaze meeting hers, and a faint smile appeared on his face.
"We meet again, dear Pamela."
Pamela's face instantly flushed red. After a few seconds of obvious discomfort, she managed to compose herself and apologize in a soft voice. As she stepped inside to leave the cart, she couldn't help glancing at him a couple more times, her heart fluttering without permission.
She lowered her head, pushed the cart farther in, and, still blushing, stepped out, closing the door behind her.
…
Even today, I'm still surprised by the luck I had in meeting Pamela Isley… or as the world would come to know her one day: Poison Ivy.
The first thing I thought when I saw her was not her beauty, but her potential.
I remembered her abilities well: absolute control over plants, the secretion of pheromones capable of influencing the will of others. Even figures like Superman or Batman had fallen to her power when they weren't sufficiently cautious.
Woodrue would inject her with plant-based toxins that would transform her blood into chlorophyll, making her immune to poisons, viruses, bacteria, and fungi.
When I met her for the first time, I didn't recognize her immediately. After all, Pamela was still only 18 years old, far from the villain she would one day become.
The day before, during our first conversation, I asked her if she liked plants. She returned the question, curious, and I simply answered that I did as well. We spent hours talking about botany, about her personal situation and her studies. I learned that she had just begun her first academic year and worked at the hotel to finance her research.
Knowing that Pamela had not yet become Poison Ivy, my interest grew even more.
Her future power… would be a key piece.
After all, controlling plant life wouldn't only be useful on Earth.
Mars would need to bloom as well.