Unmakings took time.

She knew that. Had always known that. Poison Ivy had spent weeks feeding spores into the systems that supplied a place just like this, not even a year ago, letting them spread into the bodies and bones of those inside. Letting them pull together, however unwittingly, into a colony, into something she could mold.

Unmake.

(But then there had been a young blonde woman on the floor, so achingly resembling--)

(Why... why do you want to hurt me?)

But she had made Janet a promise, of sorts. To be a monster, but only to those who deserved it. Not to the little ants running around inside that hulking cage of metal and acrid smoke, with their little lives that harmed little in the space of all things. To embrace some humanity (sentimentality), for once.

(She knew herself better than that. Knew that it wasn't about the promise to Janet, but the promise to herself, to grow, to rise, to genuinely improve what could be improved, instead of lashing out.)

So out in the marshes, she waited. An access pass sat snugly within a pocket on her overalls, stolen from some poor sap in a bar who couldn't believe his luck. (He was alive, too.) Should she wait for that dark-haired woman with her dangerous hands?

Probably not. She always worked best alone, and the vegetation here stood tall, vulnerable to deadly fingers. So Ivy righted herself, and let the vegetation move with her as she walked the last half-mile into the belly of the beast.

Not an unmaking, but a precision strike.

It was a place to start.

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