(Edited with Grammarly on 10/14/2026)
Albert felt his lungs seize as he finally stumbled up the last flight of steps, resting himself heavily against the suspect wall that groaned under his weight. Gasping, like he'd just gotten done gargling sand and using what remained as a nice, refreshing beverage. His tongue was as dry as the desert while his body tried desperately to produce even a little bit of saliva to provide some sort of relief.
But no matter how he huffed or puffed, it did nothing to slow the rampaging heart thumps running through his ears. Did nothing to stop the sharp, painful cramp in his side right below his heart.
He knew he didn't need to rush, didn't need to try to be idiotic enough to sprint all the way here. The theater had been pretty far to begin with, well beyond his normal maximum jogging distance, and he needed to spend long minutes just pressing his face against the cool but rough brickwork so as not to collapse from the sheer amount of heat oozing off him right now.
Combine the amount of puddles he'd stomped through with the heavy rain soaking through his jacket, and it was impossible for him to tell where his sweat began and the rain ended. And the very moment he could finally smell again, a musty, sour scent slammed into him.
It was almost enough for him to consider this trench coat a lost cause and just toss it out or maybe just burn it to save him the trouble.
Shaking that thought off, the teen gulped down a few lungful of air before using the wall as a guide to that oh-so-familiar door. Stopping at the colorful doormat, he knocked gently on the door. Trying to be somewhat understanding for their neighbors, after all, it was pretty late. Almost midnight, actually, at least that's what the clock said the last time he deigned to look.
"Good." He barely had enough time to fully register the door swinging open with enough force to create a back draft that he could feel, before a pair of pale verdant eyes looked down at him from the inky dark entryway. A green, warm wave waved him in quickly. "Get in."
Before turning on her heel and slinking away into the darkness, and seeing no other reason not to, he followed behind her.
Closing the door behind him, he almost instantly plunged the both of them into a dimly lit studio apartment. With nothing but the ambient street lights leaking through the open curtains to illuminate their way.
"So," Albert coughed lightly as he slid his damp trench coat off, hanging it on a nearby coat rack that more looked like a giant ball of coats and jackets just stacked atop each other at this point. "Where did Harley go?"
It made sense that the blonde would be here, especially since it was her who initially passed on the message that Ivy wanted to see him and also the one throwing up a stink that they were keeping stuff from her. So it was kinda easy to imagine her sitting stubbornly in on whatever conversation they were having just to assuage her curiosity.
"Out." Ivy's tone was short and to the point as she slid onto her usual spot on the beat-up couch. "She said she had this coupon about to go back and ran out of here not too long ago."
"Oh." He stood awkwardly off to the side, leaning heavily against the nearest wall, and tried to come up with something else to say. It had always been incredibly difficult...okay, maybe he was giving himself too much credit there; it was impossible for him to really tell what the redhead was thinking. Honestly, if he hadn't spent so much time around her, he would even be debating whether or not she tolerated him or was just putting up with him because of how close they both were to Harley. But if there was one thing he knew, it was that she did not like small talk. "So, did you find out anything about that drug?"
"Plenty." She motioned him closer, flicking on a lamp to flood the room with a flash of dull yellow light that still had enough strength to cause him to squint his eyes out of pure reflex. After blinking out the white spots, he saw a moderate stack of rough-looking paper just positively covered in elegant handwriting. Made of looping letters and flowing together into what could be classified as an art piece all by itself. "Take a look."
Coming closer, he took the stack carefully and glanced over it. Skimming over it once, twice, three times, and even flipping through pages just in case he missed anything before handing it back to her with some errant bit of shame. He could clearly read her handwriting, could cleanly understand what was written down, but actually trying to fit all those little pieces together to comprehend everything was an effort in futility.
He, himself, never really considered himself dumb, uneducated, or something. Nor was he really someone who would avoid reading; in fact, it was probably up there with some of his favorite activities. There was just so much scientific jargon that it felt like he was reading a textbook. Like it was something he would need to sit down and read just to grasp at the very edges of understanding.
This paper really wasn't for general consumption; it was more for people already in this specialized field.
Sure, maybe if someone could go through this and...uh, dumb things down a bit, maybe it could be published and not just fly over people's heads.
"Pamela? I don't understand any of this. All I got from that is something, something neurotransmitter. Something, something, glutamate. Could you, uh, please explain all this to me like I have no reference or anything to get this?"
Honestly, he kinda expected her to let out a sigh. Or to show some semblance of annoyance at the idea that he couldn't instantly get the general gist of her study. Instead, she simply took the stack from him before sliding it carefully into a simple folder. On it, a simple title was scrawled on its surface.
Sap of the Bodhi.
Pamela L. Isley, Albert Nelson
Independent Researcher
Gotham, New Jersey
November, 2002
Albert's heart constricted as his eyes landed on his own name plastered across the cover. He hadn't really contributed to this report or anything, especially not enough to get his name settled side-by-side with hers.
'So why add me?'
If anything, he essentially plopped this hot potato into her lap and was just hoping for the best. At best, he was a grunt.
"You don't have to add my name to that." It really didn't feel deserved, and he wasn't going to go around claiming the work of his friends, especially...no, period. He refused to be like those people who got a kick out of adding their names to projects they had nothing to do with just to bask in some of the prestige it might get.
"I do. I don't know what kind of hell you went through to get me that initial sample, but I wouldn't have looked into it if you hadn't brought it to my attention." She tapped the folder repeatedly, making extra sure all the sheets were nearly a solid object before turning her head and quirking a brow. More for his benefit than hers, he was sure. "Unless you're worried about having your name associated with mine?"
"No! It's not that." Sure, he was worried about some of those who've been harmed by her in the past coming after him as an easier target for their revenge, but that was a possibility he long since accepted when first deciding to become friends with both of them. Instead, it was more about having his name spread out would completely tear away a degree of separation and anonymity he greatly benefited from now. "I'm not in your field or anything, and I feel that adding a complete random like me would only drag down the authenticity of the piece…I do appreciate that you thought of me here, but really, I didn't do anything deserving a co-author spot."
"That's fine. Having my name on it will already challenge its credibility; adding another won't really change much. Besides, I'm pretty sure this version won't see the light of day."
"What?"
If that was the case, then why go through all that work?
"You'll understand why soon." She waved him off, setting aside the folder and leaning back to lazily lounge in her usual spot. "But let me explain what I found."
Coming over, he soon found himself leaning against the couch arms with rapt attention. He felt like this was going to be a very long and eye-opening lecture.
"First, let's start with the cultural significance of the name. Sap of the Bodhi is a reference to the Bodhi Tree. In Buddhist tradition, it is the tree Siddhartha Gautama, or more commonly known as the Buddha or at least our era's Buddha, sat under for forty-nine days and nights before transcending suffering, or Dukkha, and achieving Nirvana. I know I'm simplifying this explanation, but I'm not an expert in Buddhism."
"For most people, the goal of Sap of the Bodhi is to elevate oneself above the Dukkha, and achieve absolute bliss through it. But I can tell that wasn't the real intention of those who made this drug. From my examination and tests, the drug seems to work on a very simple principle. In our bodies, we have neurons that, when we're introduced to outside stimuli, release neurotransmitters that trigger a variety of different reactions. Pleasure being the subject. Dopamine is one of the more poignant examples. Usually, you do something that can bring you some form of joy. Writing, running, or even just that feeling of doing something good. Our brain remembers these patterns and rewards us accordingly. And with this drug, it temporarily 'holds' that signal for as long as possible. Letting it build up quickly, and then when the drug passes, which seems to be on average about an hour, it releases said signal all at once. Imagine I'm holding a hose in one hand and I turn the faucet on but squeeze tightly around said hose. Imagine all that water- not actual dopamine, mind you- all that pressure slowly building up, but then right before it begins to warp the hose, I let go, and all that water comes shooting out with not just the flow from the faucet but also the building-up pressure from within. As you can guess, such a powerful signal isn't without some consequences; it does seem to dull the receptors to the point where they will need that level of stimulation again to even register said signal. The human body is an incredibly adaptable construct; it's kind of why addiction is a thing. That first high is a unique experience, and everything after that is just trying to achieve that same level of sensation."
Albert nodded, easily following along with most of what she just said. He'd gotten a pretty similar explanation from Willow, so he really wasn't hearing anything new- well, that's not technically true. At least now he knows the mechanic behind Sap of the Bodhi, but what he didn't really understand was if there could really be a cure for something like that. To him, it sounded like addiction, and from his own knowledge, he didn't believe there was some cure-all drug for addiction other than therapy.
But maybe the redhead had something? Who knew what kind of concoction she would be able to churn out?
"That's where most of the issues come from. If the drug itself stayed in the system for longer, maybe just flushing it out would clear up a lot of the issues. But it's the aftereffects that are the real issue...no, all of it is an issue. But there are some solutions, but none of them are going to be easy or short. Chemical treatments primarily and support systems. But depending on how damaged their receptors are, this could be anywhere from a couple of months to a lifetime kind of deal. That's just how addictions are; a lot of the time, they can work so hard to get their lives back under their own control but will need to constantly look out for those triggers...Other, less unconventional methods could be done, but it would most likely-no, definitely- violate all of my parole terms and get me an additional twenty years tacked onto my sentence."
Was that joke? He didn't think so; she just had this incredibly dry way of delivering bad news. Either way, joke or not, it was a bit disappointing that she hadn't been able to whip up some cure-all or discover some hidden element that could bring humanity up to the next level of civilization through some comic book logic. But, as dark as it sounded, just knowing that this could be treated similarly to other forms of addiction meant there was a way out for Malaya. She would get better, she would heal, and that was enough to settle his burgeoning fears.
So, case closed. At least, that would be the case if the explanation didn't continue.
"Now, here's the reason why this report will never see the light of day." Pamela actually inhaled, her pale green mask of a face turned down into a frown. A deeper frown than her normal ones. Or maybe he was just imagining it. "I don't believe this version of Sap of the Bodhi was originally intended to be a sex enhancing drug. Near the end of my tests, I found something rather particular about it. While the drug did inhibit dopamine, it also seems to do the same thing with glutamate and substance P. Two of the most important parts responsible for sensing pain."
Now that caused his spine to straighten in a way her previous explanation hadn't.
'Why would they want to block out pain?'
"There are plenty of reasons why they would want to remove or block out pain, perhaps to make the pleasure that much more enjoyable or maybe to allow them to ignore pulled muscles or something. But I did see some signs that made me believe their intentions weren't so mundane. Along with that pain inhibition, I found more signs of inactive compounds meant to stimulate muscle growth, increase bone density over long periods of usage, and increase adrenaline production. But it was in such minute amounts that even if they were active, it would take a far higher dosage to really affect someone meaningfully. For this next part, it'll just be my conjecture. I believe Sap of the Bodhi was a failed product, and that whoever made this drug's actual intentions were to enhance the human condition. Or to break from humanity's limitations and step into an entirely new league. Or, in lamest terms, a super soldier. Or, if we use the term as dubbed by Star Labs, a meta-human."
Instantly, it felt as though an icy hand had gripped his heart. Thoughts spiraled out of control as he tried to steady himself.
'What kind of madman would distribute what amounted to super soldier serums out to just randos wanting to get their rocks off?!'
To him, it didn't matter if these stimulants weren't active or in such small dosages that they wouldn't achieve their designed purpose. Just the mere idea that some crazy scientist would still risk the possibility of accidentally causing a portion of Gotham's population to turn into super soldiers. He could imagine it now, some bullshit comic event triggering some deeply hidden remnant of the drug in their body and causing a bunch of dissatisfied people to suddenly gain the power to break cinder blocks with their bare hands.
'Or maybe that's the point?' Maybe they'd accidentally stumbled into some mad genius's master plan to create an entire army of brainwashed super soldiers ready to carve out a place in the United States for themselves. Did this drug make someone more susceptible to mental manipulation?
"As I said before, it's a failed product." Pamela shrugged, sinking back into the well-worn couch and gazing off into the night city skyline. "And I know how expensive these types of projects are, and how testy investors can be. I'm guessing that when they couldn't deliver tangible results, all their funding got ripped away and they had no choice but to push out the failed product as a sex enhancing drug. You would be surprised how many companies follow that exact same pattern. And given its current form, even if someone were to get their hands on the active recipe and consume enough of it to be affected by it, at most they would be roided-out humans with a lot less inhibition."
"You're not making this sound any better."
"...Albert, I don't think you understand. I'm not just calling this a failure because it couldn't perform its one task. I'm more targeting the idea behind this drug altogether. Pain is a signal for your body to know when it's injured, or something is wrong. Take that signal away, and even minor injuries can deteriorate and turn into something more life-threatening. There's a condition called congenital analgesia, or CIP for short, where it makes it impossible for someone to feel pain. And they have to spend the majority of their life keeping a close eye on any injury and take routine doctor visits just to make sure something hasn't happened."
"So when you're enhancing someone, you never want to disable pain permanently or even temporarily. It's a recipe for disaster, and I can see why they're forced to sell sex drugs just to keep their research going. They're an unimaginative hack, and they deserved to lose their funding."
'Okay.' He could already feel his racing heart slowing, taking in the way she just lambasted these unknown researchers and maybe finding a bit of comfort in it. 'So, no army of super soldiers, got it.'
"I know you said taking away pain is a bad idea, but I can imagine how much of an edge that'll give someone on top of the enhanced strength. Couldn't they just continue to tank damage and slam right through?"
"Yeah, at least until something vital is cut."
"Oh."
"I do have some more conjecture, but it can wait until after this next part. You're going to want to take a seat." She wasn't really the kind of person to overexaggerate things, so she finally slid into the couch fully. Facing her as he waited on bated breath. "While I was analyzing the drugs, there were a few more peculiarities that all kind of point in the same direction. Normally, you can tell how a pill is synthesized. It can be powdered, dried, cut, and forced into little capsules. Or just cut off from a larger roll. But Sap of the Bodhi wasn't produced in more conventional means. First, there's a trace of blood in them. Now, normally I would've just chalked it up to people being sloppy, lazy, and unsafe, but when I also found an excess of dead skin cells in them as well? I knew there had to be something more. So when I analyzed the structure of the pill, there were also signs of human saliva. Maybe if it was on the pill, it could be from someone talking over a fresh batch, but no, it was inside the pill itself. Mixed in and everything."
And just like that, the dread he'd thought he had defeated had reared back its ugly head. His face matching her blank mask as he listened in closer.
'Is it...is it made from humans? Have these madmen turned a population of Gotham into unwitting cannibals?'
"Sure, they did make an attempt to sterilize everything before packing this powder into capsules, but that kind of stuff always leaves tracks. And when I say, human saliva, I think it's better to say I found dead micro-organisms that are only ever found in the human mouth."
"Pamela." He wanted to reach his hand out, just wanting something or someone to hold onto when she delivered the devastating blow, but dropped it to clutch at the worn couch's arm. None of this was good news, and all he could hope for now was that his fears weren't being realized. "Please, give it to me straight...What does all that point?"
"...What is called Sap of the Bodhi requires the metabolism of humans to form. Particularly, it depends on some enzyme in the cytochrome P450 family. They're probably pumping people full of this parent compound and harvesting the metabolized substance through their saliva. Before cleaning and sterilizing it, leaving behind this powder that is then poured into small capsules and shipped out."
Albert froze in place.
He didn't know what was worse right then.
That these pills were made FROM people or the fact that they were made IN people.
[SAN: 16/47]
But either way, he could tell it was wrong. So wrong that he couldn't even fully understand how someone could look at someone and think, hey, their bodies would be perfect to make drugs in.
'How broken did someone have to be to do something like this?!'
It was depravity given form. And its color was pink.
His stomach rumbled at once, a series of cramps that made him feel as though someone was trying to punch a hole through his belly. The world spun around him, the light seeming to change orientation as he fell, something sour bubbling up from the pits of his soul. Scrabbling at the back of his throat as he swallowed back the boiling bile threatening to escape.
He could imagine it now. Imagine all those people, strapped down on bloody examination tables with tubes sucking out every bit of moisture their mouths could produce as masked doctors went from bed to bed with syringes to collect this neon pink liquid. Could imagine these people's bodies being near skeleton-like; could imagine them looking up at the doctors with so much fear and despair in their eyes that they just seem to wish for death. He could even imagine himself in that same position, sobbing and crying as one doctor flashed a light in his blurry eyes. Completely uncaring of the torment they were enacting on him. Could feel those drugs run through his body, feeling them tear through his veins as he tried to cry out, only to have some device forced down his throat to collect as much of the neon compound as possible.
Darkness crashed into him, snuffing out the light and dropping him full force into that inky abyss. His hands came up in a panic, groping around in the dark as he silently cursed Pamela's and Harley's electrical setup. How dramatic it was to have a blackout right in this moment, right after that earth-shattering revelation. What was next? Would thugs come streaming through the door ready to whisk him away now that he knew the truth?
"How long is it going to take for the power to kick back on?"
"…"
"...Hello?"
But then, his ears pricked up. Sound was still streaming in. The low, barely audible voice of some narrator with an English accent droned on and on about some endangered wild cat. And that wasn't all; he could hear it. Hear the gentle hum of the refrigerator struggling to keep going. Could hear the slight buzzing noise coming from the lamp that he'd once been able to tune out. But most importantly, he couldn't hear the curses such a blackout should cause. There were no heavy stomps of neighbors clomping down the hall.
"Albert?"
His heart hammered impossibly loud to him, easily drowning out all the ambient noise as he raised his hand to his face. Forcing his eyes open as wide as possible, all he could see was black. Scrambling, his fingers poked and prodded at his eyes and lips. Feeling those moist orbs still in place. But alas, the world had become this consistent and...familiar shade.
His mouth opened unbidden, yawning wide as a hoarse, pathetic, blood-curdling scream tore itself from his throat.