Adam's sudden move to sit beside Pamela "Poison Ivy" Isley startled her so much that she shrank back into the corner seat, clutching her chest with both hands, as if bracing against an attack. Her wide, green eyes trembled like frightened emeralds.

Adam blinked, utterly caught off guard. Sure, he wasn't Hollywood-heartthrob handsome, but he wasn't ugly enough to make women call 911. Her reaction was so extreme, it left him momentarily speechless.

From the front row, Deadshot nearly fell out of his seat, laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach. He'd seen plenty of guys crash and burn when trying to talk to women, but this? This was a new level of failure.

"Miss Isley!" Adam said with a deadpan face, trying to hold on to some dignity. "I'm Chief Inspector Adam from Arkham District, Gotham. I'm not some roadside bandit—you don't need to look like you're about to mace me."

Even though Gotham's police had a reputation for corruption, Pamela's overly defensive reaction was absurd. Adam stole a quick glance at her face. She wasn't anywhere near the seductive queen she'd become one day. Her complexion was uneven, with faint reddish patches, as if she suffered from lupus or some similar condition. She was light-years away from the sultry, plant-like goddess she would grow into.

"I… I'm sorry, sir," Pamela stammered softly, her voice trembling. "Please don't take it the wrong way. I'm just… not used to boys being so close. Maybe I overreacted."

She clutched at the wide-brimmed, old-fashioned sunhat she wore, pulling it down to hide her face, as though terrified that he might see her scars.

Adam paused, momentarily thoughtful.

'So this is where it starts, huh?'

History would one day see her turn her back on men entirely, finding comfort only with Harley Quinn. Yet even in every version of her story, Ivy's kiss remained a weapon.

"Relax, Miss Isley," Adam said with a reassuring smile. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something. I've got a few pots of roses back home, and—"

The battered roads of San Pedro Sula decided to announce themselves. The vehicle hit a massive pothole, shaking violently. Pamela, caught completely off guard, let out a small gasp and fell directly into Adam's arms.

Adam froze.

'What the hell? I didn't even do anything yet, and she's already diving into my chest?!'

"Ladies and gentlemen, apologies!" the local official riding with them quickly stood and addressed everyone. "Our roads are… a work in progress. But I promise, under General Lionel's leadership, the infrastructure will improve—just like our bright future!"

From the front, Deadshot muttered under his breath with a cynical grin,
"Yeah right. That pothole wasn't just a pothole. It was a damn mortar crater. Bet this area saw heavy gunfire recently. You agree, Ad—"

Deadshot turned his head mid-sentence and froze.

There, in the back seat, Pamela was curled up against Adam like a trembling kitten. And Adam… had his usual cool, unbothered expression, as if nothing had happened.

Deadshot's jaw dropped.

'No way. Did this guy just…?'

In his mind, Deadshot's thoughts ran wild, 'Holy hell, this man really lives up to his Arkham legend. One bump in the road and she's in his arms? That's next-level.'

He gave Adam a covert thumbs-up, stifling laughter.

Pamela's face turned red. Realizing she was pressed against Adam's chest, she shot upright as if electrocuted and stammered, "I—uh—I'm sorry! I didn't mean—! The car!"

Her voice was high-pitched, her eyes watery with embarrassment.

Adam, equally caught off guard, quickly tried to calm her. "Easy there. No harm done," he said, though inwardly he was mulling over her past.

He knew Pamela's backstory. New 52 Ivy was born from tragedy—years of domestic abuse, a father who murdered her mother and buried her beneath rosebushes, pushing her to transform into the ruthless, cunning seductress known as Poison Ivy. In college, she'd toyed with biochemistry and even sold designer psychedelics, seducing her way out of consequences. But the trembling girl beside him didn't fit that mold.

This was the early Pamela—timid, gentle, and almost painfully kind, a girl who still preferred plants over people.

"I'm sorry," Pamela said again, voice small and pitiful. "I always mess things up. Back at the research institute, Dr. Wood doesn't even let me touch the real instruments. I'm only allowed to wash petri dishes…"

Adam smirked slightly.

'Finally, a conversation hook.'

"Dr. Jason Wood? Oh, I know about him," Adam said, feigning outrage. "Trust me, he's bad news. The Gotham PD keeps tabs on characters like him. But seriously—he's wasting your talent on washing dishes? After all your years of study?"

Pamela's lips curved into a shy, almost grateful smile.
"It's… petri dishes, not cups," she corrected softly, but Adam's words clearly warmed her. No one had ever acknowledged her talent before.

Adam leaned in slightly, his tone serious but encouraging. "Whatever. You didn't go through college to become a glorified dishwasher. Someone like you—you've got real potential. Your idea about combining venomous snakes and plants? Brilliant. Unconventional, but brilliant."

Pamela's eyes widened in surprise, her green irises glowing with sudden excitement.
"Wait… how do you know about that? I only mentioned it once, during a staff meeting. Dr. Wood shot it down instantly and told me to stick to making coffee. He even told others that coffee was all I was good for…"