When Batman arrived at the botanical garden, Alfred's voice crackled through the comm system with news that was both helpful and frustrating.
"I'm afraid you've just missed them, Master Bruce. Poison Ivy has left the botanical garden. Surveillance shows she departed with Mr. Nygma approximately three minutes ago."
Batman's jaw tightened behind the cowl. He couldn't just abandon this location to chase after two fleeing criminals. There was still a group of Falcone gang members somewhere inside, and they'd never come out. Radio silence from a team of armed thugs in Gotham usually meant one of two things: they'd succeeded so thoroughly they were celebrating, or they were in serious trouble.
Given that they'd gone after a target in Poison Ivy's territory, Batman was betting on the latter.
Despite the tactical disadvantage of letting two dangerous criminals escape, Batman made his decision in a fraction of a second. Save people first. Catch criminals second.
He gunned the Batcycle's engine and drove directly into the botanical garden, snapping the chain across the main entrance like thread. The bike roared forward, tires finding purchase on the winding forest road. The garden at night was beautiful. Moonlight filtered through glass ceiling panels, casting geometric shadows across exotic plants from six continents. Under other circumstances, it might have been peaceful.
Tonight, it was a crime scene.
Batman sped along the path, his trained eyes scanning for anomalies. Up ahead, the road changed. What had been clear pavement was now covered with a dense, impassable barrier of thorns stretching across the width of the path and deep into the forest.
"These plants aren't growing normally," Batman concluded at a glance.
He crouched, examining the nearest vines. The thorns were two to three inches long and wickedly sharp. More importantly, they were coated in fresh, wet blood. "Judging by the color and coagulation, these people were only recently released from these bushes."
Moreover, the thorns dripped with a strange, viscous green sap that luminesced in the dark. Batman had seen enough of Poison Ivy's work to recognize her signature. These were definitely poisonous.
He straightened, about to figure out how to navigate the barrier, when he noticed a path. It appeared among the thorns like a miracle of landscaping. No severed vines, no hacked stumps—the plants had simply pulled back and curled aside, creating a corridor wide enough for the Batcycle.
Batman looked down at the axe hanging from his utility belt. He'd listened to Alfred's advice; there really wasn't any better tool against plants. Keeping one hand near the handle, ready to draw, he guided the Batcycle into the mysterious path. The vines didn't attack. They just held their position, forming walls of green thorns while the corridor remained clear.
A few seconds later, he reached the other side. The thorns disappeared, revealing an open clearing where six figures lay on the ground. One man squatted beside them.
Batman recognized him immediately. Officer Jude Sharp, GCPD.
The same officer who'd been present during the Joker chase last night, and the same one who had taken custody of the Riddler—a man Batman had believed was doomed to die from his injuries. Yet the Riddler had not only survived, but recovered enough to escape the hospital within hours. Batman had reviewed that incident today. The injuries that should have been fatal somehow weren't.
Investigating further, Batman had uncovered a staggering pattern. Who could have rescued over twenty people from the Joker's murderous theater with near-zero fatalities? Who could have foiled the Riddler's long-planned escape attempt on his second day on the force? Who had stumbled upon the Joker-gassed taxi driver, saved him, and spotted the Riddler?
Most importantly, Batman realized that in every incident Jude was involved in—excluding the initial comedians shot by the Joker before Jude's arrival—there had been zero deaths.
It was as if, since Jude stepped into the spotlight, the Joker and the Riddler had lost their ability to kill. Victims suffered catastrophic injuries, but nobody died. Even their wounds baffled doctors. Victims who should have bled out had stable vital signs. Lethal toxin levels were mysteriously absent. And after Jude left the hospital, all the seriously injured patients miraculously improved.
Could this police officer, like Poison Ivy or Clayface, possess a secret ability? Healing? Protection? Probability manipulation? Batman's analytical mind cycled through multiple scenarios, each more intriguing than the last.
He dismounted the Batcycle, hung the axe back on his belt, and walked straight toward them.
"Batman. We meet again," Jude nodded to the approaching vigilante, his expression neutral and professional.
At that exact moment, his phone rang. Perfect timing. He could deal with Gordon's inevitable questions before dealing with Batman's.
"One second," he said, holding up a finger to Batman and answering the call. "Hello, Commissioner Gordon?"
"Jude!" Gordon's voice was tight with the strain of managing too many crises simultaneously. "Where are you? I got a notification from the botanical garden's security system—"
"Yes, it's me," Jude cut him off smoothly, launching into his prepared explanation. "Six guys who looked like gangsters appeared in the botanical garden and were hung up by some vines. I rescued them. Looks like the work of the 'Poison Ivy' mentioned in the files, but she's gone. I guess she didn't plan to stick around."
A pause as Gordon processed. "Are the victims alive?"
"Yes, sir. They're injured and their minds are unclear. We need to send them to the hospital. But they're breathing, hearts are beating, no active bleeding."
"Christ, Jude, what were you doing at a botanical garden?" Gordon sounded like a man who already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.
Jude delivered it anyway. "Me? I was just passing by, heard screaming, so I climbed over the wall and came in."
The silence on the other end of the line was profound. "You... climbed over the wall."
"Yes, sir. Into a closed botanical garden. To help citizens in distress, sir."
Another pause. Jude could practically hear Gordon pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're going to have a conversation about proper procedure, Officer."
"Yes, sir. Not next time, sir. Absolutely not next time." They both knew that was a lie. In Gotham, "next time" was usually scheduled for tomorrow.
Gordon sighed. "I'm sending a medical and forensics team. Stay there. And if Batman shows up—"
"He's already here, sir."
"Of course he is," Gordon's tone shifted to resigned acceptance. "Cooperate with him. I'll be there in twenty minutes." The line clicked dead.
Jude pocketed his phone and turned his attention back to Batman, who had used the conversation time to examine the six gangsters. The Dark Knight moved with clinical efficiency—checking pulses, examining wounds, assessing threat levels. His hands moved like a doctor's: precise, impersonal, gathering data.
"Heartbeats are strong," Batman announced, his distinctive growl suggesting either vocal modification or a lifetime of cigarettes. Probably the former. "Thorn scars on their bodies. Minimal bleeding. All unconscious." He stood, dusting off his gloves. "These are their only injuries. Minor, relatively speaking."
Batman scanned the area. "On my way here, I counted seven pistols and an automatic rifle on the ground. Significant firepower. And this is a botanical garden filled with delicate, irreplaceable plants." His eyes, hidden behind the cowl but piercing all the same, fixed on Jude. "But Poison Ivy didn't kill anyone."
The statement hung in the air like an accusation disguised as an observation. This wasn't normal. Poison Ivy's usual MO involved corpses. Lots of them. Environmentalists who murdered polluters didn't do "minor injuries." She had meant to kill these men. Something—or someone—had stopped her.
I should have taken some vines as samples, Batman thought, filing the mistake away.
He crouched next to the unconscious gangsters again, pulling back suit jackets to check for identification. As the man with the best intelligence network in the city, the identities of senior Falcone executives were fully transparent to him.
"'Big Gun' Carleno," Batman read from a driver's license. He moved to the next body. "'Fishy' Christopher." The third: "'Fan' Leonardo." Fourth: "'Babyface' Chino."
All of them senior enforcers. All on Carmine's personal payroll. These weren't disposable muscle; these were trusted soldiers. Carmine had sent his best, and they'd all survived an encounter with Poison Ivy in her own territory.
Batman stood, turned, and looked directly at Jude Sharp. "You saved them." It wasn't a question.
Jude kept his expression neutral. "They were lucky. When I got here, Poison Ivy had already left. I just had to get them off the vines. It wasn't that difficult."
"That's not what I meant." Batman's voice remained unchanged. "The vines were poisonous. And you cured them of the poison."
"Yes, yes I did," Jude answered with a straight face.