Enigma #37

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...

The mallet made a solid connection with the top of my head, a textbook blow that would have left most people seeing stars. But, thanks to my trusty guardian veil barrier, it might as well have been a gentle tap. 

I just stood there, looking at Harley with a deadpan expression, blinking slowly under the gas mask. Her confusion was palpable; if question marks could materialize, they'd be floating around her head like a demented halo.

However, the fog of surprise lifted as I noticed a distinct green question mark-shaped pin adorning her clown hat. It triggered a memory from earlier – the inmate near the guard cabin with a similar insignia hidden in his straight jacket. The pieces clicked into place in my mind. 

This was more than just a run-of-the-mill circus act; it was a Riddler-approved sideshow.

Deciding that an impromptu staring contest wasn't getting us anywhere, I made the first move, extending my hand toward the question mark. But Harley, ever the acrobat, leaped backward, executing a backflip just for the sheer spectacle of it.

"I spy with my crazy eye, another super freak in the house," Harley remarked, grinning ear to ear as she nonchalantly rested the mallet on her shoulder. "Unfortunately for ya, I've plenty of experience dealing with your kind-- prepare to feel my wrath, buddy!" she exclaimed, reaching into her pocket and producing a cylindrical object.

In response to her theatrics, I couldn't help but chuckle, muffled by the gas mask. "Well, aren't we in for a show?" I quipped, readying myself for the impending spectacle, having recognized the purpose of the object she flourished. 

Harley brandished the cylindrical object with theatrical flair, poised for a dramatic throw. However, her expression shifted from glee to a sudden realization when she spotted my gas mask.

"Hold up! Gas mask? That's cheating!" she protested, her scowl revealing the flaw in her grand plan. I responded with a nonchalant shrug. 

Undeterred, she redirected her attention to Dr. Joan, and it didn't take a detective to figure out her next move. In a split second, I activated my Storm Walker Shoes, ready to intervene.

"Sorry, Joan, but it looks like I'll have to paint a grin on that grumpy face of yours!" Harley declared, a maniacal giggle punctuating her threat as she tossed a canister in the doctor's direction. With a sigh echoing in my mind, I zipped toward Dr. Joan, utilizing the nimble boost from my shoes to intercept the impending disaster.

"Can't let that happen. While I'd love a leisurely chat, I'm on a tight schedule. Let's make this swift," I quipped, activating the Storm Walker Shoes once more and barreling toward Harley. 

With a blink-and-you-miss-it burst of speed, I closed half the distance between us, and Harley's confident grin seemed to say, 'Gotcha!' Little did she know, disappointment was just around the corner.

Amplifying the strength in my legs, I gracefully vaulted over the strategically scattered steel pebbles she placed on the ground when I rushed to help Joan, hoping I wouldn't notice. Before Harley could react, I sailed past her, nabbing the question-mark-shaped pin from her clown hat like a prize from a carnival game.

In my previous life, I'd consumed enough comics to develop an immunity to cheap tricks. Harley might be one of the most unpredictable characters in DC, but she thrives on the assumption that people consider her less intelligent than she truly was. It was a tactic that worked like a charm, almost every time.

So, when she pretended not to notice the gas mask, flinging the canister theatrically at Dr. Joan, I saw through the act. It was all an elaborate scheme to test my mettle. Unfortunately for Harley, her unpredictability had become so predictable, like a worn-out comic book plot loop.

I shifted my body to face Harley, and, as expected, without that peculiar hairpin, her tough exterior softened for a fleeting moment before she crumpled to her knees. Calmly, I observed as she winced, tending to the spot on the back of her head where my earlier blow had landed.

"Ughhh... what in the twisted Wonderland is going on? Did the Cheshire Cat spike my tea again? And why does the back of my noggin feel like decided to whack me with a crowbar...?" she groaned, surveying the surroundings in a daze.

Her words instantly confirmed my suspicions: mind control technology. And not just any tech, this was the handiwork of the Mad Hatter. Gotham, the city of capricious chaos, never failed to keep things interesting.

Enduring the blows and persevering till the bitter end – it had the unmistakable signature of the Mad Hatter's technology. 

How the Riddler managed to acquire and enhance it, allowing Harley to retain her lunatic persona, unlike the unfortunate inmate with the personality of a sack of potatoes, was a mystery I neither knew nor cared to unravel. 

My focus was on reaching the Riddler, and Harley, with her animated eccentricity, was the key, as per the first riddle.

Seemingly unimpressed by the lack of response as I pondered my next move while Dr. Joan and Wesker stood there in a stupefied state, Harley scowled at me, impatience radiating from her.

"Someone better spill the beans before I start reciting Jabberwocky!" she exclaimed, irritation lacing her tone as she eyed me up and down.

I simply shrugged, lifting the mind control device from her head. "That's a question better reserved for the Riddler..." I remarked, presenting the question mark-shaped hairpin. With a chuckle, I added, "And that mallet of yours, too."

Harley's expression shifted from stunned to a sudden realization. Anger quickly followed clarity as she began gritting her teeth. "Why, that filthy, green sack of nincompoop!" she angrily declared. "I'll wring that weaselly neck of his and smash--" Her rant paused abruptly as I cut her off.

"Yes, I get it, you're boiling mad. But to blow off steam, you'll have to find the Riddler," I sighed, observing Harley with a blend of weariness and intrigue. "Coincidentally, I'm on the hunt for him too. So, spill the beans – do you know where he is?" I inquired.

Harley scoffed, unwavering in her confidence as she rose, giving her mallet a rhythmic smack against her palm. "Oh, I can do you one better. I've got the Riddler's GPS coordinates memorized," she declared with a smug grin. 

Before I could react, distant shouts and the unmistakable sound of a door meeting its match echoed through the corridor. "Gotham police! Freeze!"

Glancing at Dr. Joan, I offered a parting grin. "Well, it seems the cavalry's arrived. This is where our paths diverge, doc," I informed her. She nodded, fully engrossed in releasing Wesker from his binds.

"By the time you're out, I might have an actual job waiting for you, buddy. So, hang in there," I quipped, stealing a glance at the perplexed Wesker. "We can chat about it later when you're a free man," I chuckled, redirecting my focus to Harley. "Let's beat a hasty retreat before the police crash our little party..."

...

As the screens bathed the room in their eerie glow, the Riddler reclined in his chair, fingers steepled in contemplation. The unexpected diversion, orchestrated by the enigmatic Micah, had injected a burst of chaotic energy into his otherwise carefully choreographed plan.

The corners of Nygma's lips curled upward in a wry smile. "A deviation from the script, a wildcard in the game," he mused, relishing the uncertainty that now permeated his grand puzzle.

In the midst of his initial frustration at having his carefully devised plan wasted by some random stranger, a newfound spark of amusement flickered in his eyes. The intricate dance he had prepared for Batman had taken an unforeseen turn, and while a part of him resisted the deviation, another found an odd thrill in the unpredictability.

"Perhaps," he whispered to the darkness, "this is the true nature of the enigma – an ever-evolving dance where chaos and order entwined. Let the pieces fall where they may, for in the labyrinth of uncertainties, a riddle's true essence is revealed."

With that, the Riddler leaned back, his gaze fixed on the screens, eager to witness the unfolding of a narrative that had slipped beyond his meticulous control. 

The game had changed, and as the shadows whispered their secrets, Nygma embraced the riddles within riddles, ready to adapt and revel in the unpredictability that Micah had introduced into his meticulously constructed world.

...

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