Alex sat in his office, still digesting the Parahumans thread. #GREENGOTEM had spread like a virus, and he couldn't help but smirk. Gotham was buzzing: some called Pamela a goddess, others a demon, but everyone was talking about them. Public opinion? They were riding high. But what threw him off was HeritageofHumanity. Power Girl herself, their target, had posted #GREENGOTEM. A fittingly cheeky handle, considering her… well, two prominent assets. He snorted, picturing her swooping into Gotham, gleaming in armor and confidence. She was his ticket to power. Power Girl's DNA was what he needed. Superman would've been better, but after his clash with Luthor, he'd turned paranoid: not a trace of DNA left behind. Stealing from him unnoticed? Mission impossible.
He was already scheming how to snag Power Girl's DNA—maybe send someone to Metropolis, hit her favorite café—when the radio crackled. A mercenary's voice, hoarse but steady:
"Boss, got a court officer here. Brought a subpoena. What do we do?"
"Take the paper and send him packing," Alex said, leaning back in his chair. The vines on the office walls twitched slightly, as if sensing his irritation. Monitors hummed, displaying the base's cameras: sterile corridors, green arches, the high-tech heart of Floravita Industries.
Ten minutes later, the mercenary stormed into the common room where Alex stood by a table. Pamela lounged on her leaf-woven couch, more throne than furniture. Green light from ceiling moss played on her red hair as she lazily chewed a fruit grown by her plants. The mercenary handed Alex an envelope with an official seal—damn, this was serious. He tore it open, scanned the text. His face darkened, and Pamela noticed.
"More trouble?" she drawled, raising an eyebrow.
"Not just trouble, Ivy. Big trouble," he said, tossing her the subpoena. "Read."
She caught the paper, her fingers gliding over it like petals. Her eyes skimmed the text, and her lips tightened.
UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE
Office of Military Commissions
Tribunal for National Security Affairs – Section 7 (Meta-Class Threats)
Washington, D.C.
TO: Dr. Pamela Isley
Alias: "Poison Ivy"
Last Known Location: Botanical Quarter, Gotham City
MILITARY TRIBUNAL SUBPOENA
Under the extraordinary authority granted by the Military Commissions Act, Section 12, and Presidential Directive 51-B (Containment of Meta-Human Threats), you are hereby ordered to appear in person before the Military Tribunal for National Security Affairs.
You are summoned regarding a matter concerning a direct threat to the population and interests of the United States of America.
Charges Against You:
Unlawful use of biological agents against the population;
Violation of the Biological Weapons Anti-Terrorism Act (BWATA);
Intentional damage to federal infrastructure by biologically controlled plant organisms;
Undermining the security of Gotham City as a high-vulnerability target.
Hearing Details:
Case Name: United States v. Isley, No. 745-EC-GREEN
Date: July 20, 2025
Time: 09:00 AM Eastern Time
Location: Secure Chamber No. 3, Arkham-South Military Base, Gotham City
Conditions of Appearance:
Failure to appear will result in immediate designation as an Enemy Combatant with potential for extrajudicial detention.
You are entitled to a Department of Defense-approved attorney.
The use or possession of any plants, seeds, spores, or genetically modified organisms is strictly prohibited.
Signed:
Major General Elizabeth Roark
Chief Prosecutor, Office of Military Commissions
Seal of the U.S. Department of Defense
Pamela tossed the subpoena onto the table like it was a junk flyer. "So? We don't show. I've dodged civil courts a hundred times. Gotham PD can't arrest me even if they try."
Alex shook his head, smirking. "Silly cuckoo. This isn't a civil court with a couple of donut-munching cops chasing you. It's a military tribunal. The army's coming for you, and with them, metahumans on payroll. We're a 'white' company now, Ivy. Floravita Industries can't just duck this. It'll undermine everything we're building."
She sat up, her green eyes narrowing. "So, what? We go?"
Alex laughed, rubbing his temples. "If we go, we're screwed. No, Pamela, we don't go. By U.S. law, a military tribunal has no jurisdiction over civilians unless martial law's declared. And despite Gotham's chaos, martial law hasn't been declared. Or they couldn't pull it off. They want a closed, rushed trial because they're scared of us. Scared of you, your plants, our program. We've got two days until the hearing."
He stood, adrenaline surging. "Time to play hardball." Alex headed to his office, where monitors still displayed the Parahumans thread. He opened a DM with BlackCat. Selina Kyle knew Gotham's secrets better than anyone, and if anyone could help them wiggle out, it was her.
Site Navigation: Parahumans
The Parahumans forum was unchanged: blue background, pixelated fonts, a flashing bat banner with "Welcome to Gotham's Shadows." At the top: "Home," "Cities," "Characters," "Rumors," "Off-Topic," "Private Messages." Alex clicked "Private Messages," opening his dialog list. First up: BlackCat—Selina knew Gotham like her own claws.
Private Messages: GreenMistress ↔ BlackCat
GreenMistress ✅: Hey, Cat. I'm Ivy's ally, and we're in deep. Proof I'm with her: [attached photo of Pamela grilling her plant burger, me standing nearby]. Yeah, I showed my face because this is serious and needs speed. Here's the subpoena we got: [attached scan]. I know there's some shadowy crap behind this, like those "Court of Owls" types. You're a curious cat, Selina, I don't buy you haven't sniffed out their secrets. Help. Also—give me Batman's account.
BlackCat ✅: Wow, a military tribunal? You're really in the shit. Sorry, kitten, I'm on vacation, got nothing on me. My dirt's on a flash drive at the top of St. Ignatius Church, old district. Find the gargoyle with a cracked face—info's in its mouth. Break it to get it. Batman's account? Heh, it's SlaveGreen.
GreenMistress ✅: !?!?!?!?!?!??!?!
BlackCat ✅: HAHAHAHA! Relax, joking. Real account's WhatmanPaper. But don't expect a reply. Good luck, kitten, hope you don't screw over Ivy, or I'll find you.
Private Messages: GreenMistress ↔ WhatmanPaper
GreenMistress ✅: Hey, Batsy. Tired of those Owls acting like they're Gotham's gods? Sitting in their fancy lairs, scheming like they own the place. Feathers, claws, pompous names—clowns, not a secret society. Think they can pull strings while the mob and cops are distracted. You've got a shot to take them down now—mob's done, cops are busy, public's against them. Let's share intel.
Alex stepped away from the computer, not expecting a reply. Batman was silent as a grave. Time to move. Over the radio, he called the mercenaries: "Grab gear, climb St. Ignatius Church. Find the gargoyle with a cracked face, smash it, get the flash drive. No noise."
Back at the monitor, he saw—miracle of miracles—Batsy replied.
WhatmanPaper: You started a war. The city's in ruins. You used Isley and her power. Now you want to use me? Why should I interfere with the Court of Owls?
GreenMistress ✅: Because they're next on your list, Batsy. Because they're already plotting against you, just like us. Because while you're gathering "irrefutable evidence" by your rules, they'll strike. You've got a chance to rip them out by the roots now, while they're vulnerable post-mob collapse. I'm not asking you to help me. I'm saying: do what you're sworn to do. Clean Gotham of this rot. You know Ivy can build, not just destroy. The choice is yours.
Thirty minutes later
WhatmanPaper: owl_court_data.pdf. That's all I have.