End: Try To Escape

Poison Ivy made it about twelve steps out of the room and down the corridor when an arm reached out from the shadows and grabbed her. Instantly, Ivy made to struggle against the hand that pressed against her mouth...and then she heard a familiar voice whisper in her ear:

"Come on! It's not safe in the open! They'll catch you!"

Ivy turned to see the familiar countenance of Lois Lane—the face thinner and more haggard than the villain remembered, albeit with an incongruous pot-belly, and wearing a skin-tight black jumpsuit that merged with the shadows. The reporter stood in an open gap between two wall panels that had not been there a moment ago. There was the tap-tap of feet approaching, and Lois gave a tug. Swiftly, Ivy ducked into the gap, and the panel slid in place behind her.

There was no light in that space. Barely any air. Some sort of maintenance space, Ivy judged by the conduits that surged close to her. She had to be careful not to lean forward; a heavy tube affixed to the wall was so hot it could singe her breasts, while if she leaned against the opposite wall, she felt freezing cold on her ass.

Lois held herself stock still, utterly silent. The reporter seemed to be listening intently...and as the steps retreated, she nudged Ivy deeper into the space.

They crawled through the maintenance tunnels for what could only be minutes, but felt like hours. Ivy had to go first, and Lois would nudge her in the right direction with a sharp poke of a finger to Ivy's buttock or breast. Before long, the villain began to sweat in her borrowed costume, and her muscles ached from lack of use. How long had she been under the control of the Black Mercy.

Until, at last, they arrived at a small room with a sleeping bag, a laptop, and some odd plumbing which Ivy vaguely recognized as a space toilet.

"We can talk here," Lois said.

"What in the world is going on?" Ivy said.

"What do you remember?" Lois said. "From before you broke free of the Black Mercy?"

"I...had an operation running at the club. You came for a night out. I...captured you," Ivy said, not sure how far she should trust the reporter. She decided, in the end, to give a tastefully-edited version of events. Lois nodded along.

"Okay, that was...God, that night out was six months ago," Lois said. One hand went to her stomach, and Ivy's eyes went wide as she realized that the small, taut dome wasn't a pot-belly at all. "You weren't the only one playing with the Black Mercy. Some of the Justice League thought they could use it as an alternative to prison, for supervillains. They thought it would be more humane. But things got bad, fast. It wasn't just the supervillains they used it against. There were warlords in Africa...cartels in Mexico and Colombia...and then...then they just unleashed it on North Korea. Everything on the peninsula north of the 38th parallel is just one vast field of black blossoms."

"How did you escape?" Ivy asked, as she digested that.

"Your version of the plant is a different cultivar," Lois said. "Close, but distinct. A mutant strain. The effects were different. I didn't fall asleep. I developed an immunity to your version of the Black Mercy, and that made me immune to their version. Like cowpox and smallpox. When they came for me, I just had to...lie still...until they were gone. Then I snuck out, to here. Living in the maintenance tunnels. On the move. Tapping into their system when I can."

The reporter could not repress a shudder. Her eyes had dark bags under them, strange hollows. Ivy wondered who had fathered the reporter's child, and under what circumstances.

"So what's the plan?" Ivy said. "I mean, I assume you have one."

Lois Lane gave a sad, terrible smile, tinged with madness. She rested a hand on her stomach.

"When Junior comes...I think the immunity will be passed on to him. He told me...he told me that Junior can fix it. He'll have the power. To reclaim control of the Green..."

"He?" Ivy's brow furrowed.

"Alec Holland," the pregnant woman said. The reporter touched her neck, and then drew her fingers down. The black suit parted and showed pasty white flesh...blue veins in slightly swollen tits...and that distinct, taut belly of a woman about twenty weeks pregnant....only there was a deep green flush beneath the skin, and the dark line that ran up from the reporter's mons and the ugly stretch marks was like the stripes on a watermelon.

The reporter cupped her swollen stomach.

"Just a little while longer, baby," Lois cooed to her unborn child...and Ivy felt a shiver of fear as two glowing green eyes shone out through the pale, taut skin. "He needed somewhere to hide...to grow strong...away from the infection. But he's gathering his strength. Soon, he'll be ready."

Lois Lane raised her tired eyes and stared at Ivy.

"I...could use some help. With the delivery," and the reporter's voice nearly cracked. Ivy wondered at the strength of Lois Lane, the loneliness. Six months, pregnant, living like a rat, with no human contact.

They held each other in their arms, beneath the sleeping bag. Ivy could feel that swollen stomach against her own. Feel the elemental **** within. Waiting to be born. She wondered what had happened to Harley Quinn, to Superman...so many questions, none of which would be answered tonight.