Basic Gotham Villian

The tension in the room was thick as Gotham Prep's class field trip to the Gotham Art Gallery took an unexpected and dark turn. Rows of Maggie's classmates huddled together, eyes wide with terror as the masked villain, the Riddler, strutted through the main art exhibit hall. His iconic green suit shimmered under the museum lights, each step he took sending a chill through the room. Everyone was frozen in fear, everyone except Maggie. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, looking less scared and more… annoyed.

"Alright, kiddies," the Riddler announced, his voice dripping with mock cheer. "Time for a little pop quiz! What has four wheels and flies?"

One student whimpered, another gasped, but Maggie just sighed.

"A garbage truck," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. She could already see the direction this was going.

The Riddler's gaze zeroed in on her, his smile faltering. "What was that?"

Maggie gave him a bored look. "It's a garbage truck. Four wheels. Flies. It's not that hard."

The Riddler's eyes narrowed as he strode over to her, intrigued and visibly irked. "Well, well, it seems we have a clever one among us! But you're not that clever. Are you, little girl?"

Maggie rolled her eyes again. "Really? The whole 'terrorize a group of kids with riddles' shtick? Is this supposed to be scary?"

"Maggie!" Emily whispered frantically from a few feet away. "Stop!"

But Maggie didn't stop. She lifted an eyebrow, glaring back at the Riddler without a hint of fear. "What are you even doing here, anyway? Trying to prove that you're still relevant?"

The Riddler's smug demeanor faltered, his eye twitching slightly. "You dare mock the Riddler? The master of puzzles and enigmas?"

"Oh please," Maggie said, exasperated, "your riddles are basic. I solved them when I was, like, eight." She raised her voice a bit, drawing some stifled giggles from a few classmates.

The Riddler clenched his fists, his teeth grinding together. "Well then, since you're so clever, why don't you solve this riddle? 'I can be cracked, made, told, and played. What am I?'"

Maggie barely blinked. "A joke. Like you."

The students gasped. The Riddler's eyes narrowed to slits, his smug grin slipping. He took a slow, menacing step toward her. "You've got quite the mouth, Missy. But you should be careful; one wrong answer, and—"

"Let me guess," she interrupted, rolling her eyes again, "you'll blow up the museum? Or take me hostage until Batman arrives? Blah Blah Blah... You're like a broken record."

The Riddler was speechless, his expression caught somewhere between fury and disbelief.

"You know what? I done." Maggie continued, standing up with a dismissive shrug.

The Riddler blinked, thrown entirely off his rhythm. As Maggie strode toward the exit, the Riddler's gloved hand shot out, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her around. His face was a mask of irritation as he leaned down, sneering at her.

"Not so fast!" he hissed, tightening his grip. "If you're so confident, try this one: *I am taken from a mine and shut up in a wooden case, from which I am never released, and yet I am used by almost every person. What am I?*"

Maggie tilted her head, unfazed. "That's the best you've got... It's a pencil. 

The Riddler's sneer faded into a look of genuine frustration. He hadn't expected her to answer so quickly, and with such an air of complete indifference. Her classmates watched, wide-eyed and silent, as Maggie continued to stare him down, looking more annoyed by the second.

"Alright, how about this?" he snapped, clearly flustered. "*If you look at the numbers on my face, you won't find thirteen anyplace. What am I?*"

She didn't even hesitate. "A clock," she answered, her expression deadpan. "These are getting worse. Got anything more challenging?"

The Riddler was visibly taken aback, his eyes flashing with frustration and a bit of embarrassment. His whole plan was unraveling, all because of this one girl who was unfazed by him and his riddles. He opened his mouth, scrambling for another, but Maggie cut him off.

"Look," she said, with a casual wave of her hand, "I've got to be home in an hour, so maybe wrap this up? I'm sure Batman'll be here any second, and I'd rather not be late."

The Riddler's expression soured, realizing she was probably right. Batman's arrival was inevitable, and this girl—this *infuriatingly clever girl*—was treating him like a nuisance.

He gritted his teeth. "This isn't over."

"Yeah, yeah," she replied, finally yanking her shoulder free from his grip. She adjusted her bag with a shrug, looking back at her trembling classmates. "You guys coming?"

Slowly, as if in a daze, her classmates stood and began shuffling toward the exit, exchanging astonished glances. Maggie led the way, her expression calm and unimpressed as she guided them out of the exhibit hall. And just as they reached the door, a familiar, gravelly voice echoed from behind them.

"Riddler, I suggest you let the students go."

The Riddler whirled around to find Batman standing in the shadows, his intimidating figure looming over the room. Maggie just smirked, rolling her eyes one last time as she muttered, "Took you long enough."

Batman stepped out of the shadows, his usual intimidating presence casting a long shadow across the museum floor. He approached the Riddler with steady, deliberate steps, expecting the typical defiance, some snarky remark, or a riddle-laden taunt. But instead, the Riddler just… wilted.

"Are you here to fight or to surrender?" Batman asked, his voice low and commanding.

The Riddler let out a defeated sigh, glancing back at Maggie, who was leaning against a display case, arms crossed and watching him with a raised eyebrow. Her presence only deepened the humiliation. He slumped forward, his shoulders sagging as he held his hands up in surrender, his face a mask of misery.

"No fight left, Batman," he mumbled, casting a pitiful glance at the floor. "Just… take me."

Batman's eyebrows knitted together, genuinely taken aback. In all his years of facing Gotham's criminals, he'd never seen the Riddler give up without at least a fight—or a show. He glanced at Maggie, who simply shrugged, her expression smug.

"What happened here, Nigma?" Batman pressed, still wary.

The Riddler's face contorted as he tried to explain, gesturing vaguely in Maggie's direction. "It was her, Batman," he choked out, his voice trembling with frustration and despair. "She… she didn't even care. Didn't even blink. Just… sat there, solving my riddles like they were nothing." He sniffed, his voice cracking. "It was supposed to be terrifying, but she just… kept answering them! Instantly!"

Batman's gaze flickered over to Maggie, who looked all too pleased with herself, then back to the Riddler, whose face had grown blotchy as he struggled to hold back tears.

"I mean, do you know what that *does* to a man's confidence?" The Riddler continued, his voice breaking. "She called my riddles basic, Batman! Basic! She didn't even flinch." He covered his face with a gloved hand, a soft sob escaping him as he tried to compose himself. "I've lost my edge."

Batman looked utterly baffled. He'd fought countless battles against the Riddler, each time requiring him to think his way out of complex traps and riddles. And here was Maggie—just a kid—who had brought one of his oldest foes to his knees without lifting a finger.

Finally, Batman placed a firm hand on the Riddler's shoulder, guiding him toward the waiting GCPD officers. "Come on, Nigma. Let's get you out of here."

The Riddler went without protest, his head hung low, a few final sniffles escaping him.

Later that evening at Wayne Manor, Maggie recounted the entire story in the cozy ambiance of the library. She sat on the couch, a mischievous grin lighting up her face, while Bruce listened, his expression an amused blend of surprise and pride. Across from him, Jason had his arms crossed, eyebrows raised, occasionally breaking into fits of laughter. Alfred stood behind Bruce; his usual stoic demeanor betrayed by the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"So let me get this straight," Bruce said, leaning back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You called the Riddler's riddles *basic, answered every single one with ease, and then just… walked toward the exit?"

Maggie shrugged, brushing off the compliments with a casual wave. "Well, yeah. I mean, his riddles *were* basic. You'd think someone with his reputation would have a little more… creativity."

Jason let out a short laugh, clearly relishing the image. "I wish I'd been there to see his face! So, the Riddler just… broke down? Like, he actually cried?"

"Full-on meltdown," Maggie replied, grinning. "When Batman showed up, he practically handed himself over. Kept mumbling about his riddles not being good enough."

Jason leaned forward, barely containing his amusement. "You know, you might've just done the city a favor. We could be Riddler-free for a while."

Bruce shook his head, chuckling softly. "You did make my job a bit easier today. But, Maggie," he added, a bit more seriously, "you know the Riddler isn't someone to be taken lightly. He's dangerous, especially when he feels he's been humiliated."

"Oh, I don't know, Master Wayne," Alfred interjected, a glint of pride in his eyes as he looked at Maggie. "It seems young Miss Wayne was rather effective in her own right. If he considers his riddles inadequate, he may well have a crisis of confidence that keeps him off the streets for some time."

Maggie smirked, glancing over at Alfred. "Thanks, Alfred. Honestly, he just couldn't handle the truth. His riddles are basic—at least for anyone with half a brain."

Jason burst out laughing again, doubling over as he imagined the scene. "You literally mean-girl the Riddler! He's probably spiraling right now, wondering where he went wrong."

Maggie shrugged, feigning innocence. "It's not my fault if he can't handle a little honesty."

Jason, still laughing, finally caught his breath. "Honestly, Mags, you're way scarier than Bruce when you put your mind to it. And the best part? He'll be lying in his cell, still trying to figure out how to one-up a sixteen-year-old."

Alfred coughed lightly, a small, proud smile on his face as he patted Maggie on the shoulder. "I daresay, Miss Maggie, you may have a future in this line of work."

Maggie leaned back, looking pleased with herself. "Who knows, Alfred?"

As laughter filled the library, Bruce couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. She'd just proven she had a style all her own.