Riddler

Swish.

The female officer beside Gordon inserted the flash drive into the computer.

"It's already being loaded. it will be ready in a moment. We slowed it down. watch it frame by frame."

"Here we go."

Gordon adjusted his glasses, perched on the edge of his seat in the GCPD.

"This was a few hours ago. That's John Peterson, the victim. Right there."

The screen flickered to life. The grainy, black and white footage, marred by static, had an eerie, almost surreal quality.

"Our victim usually takes the subway home, but that day he opted for a cab."

"Now, look to the left."

Gordon squinted.

"That's the Riddler. He's already drawn his weapon when the camera picks him up. See? His left hand. Riddler's not a lefty."

"It happens in a split second. No hesitation, no extraneous movement."

The female officer's voice was clipped and professional. "Unclear if he spoke – we've zoomed in, and his lips don't seem to move. So, based on current evidence, we're assuming he remained silent."

Gordon had already guessed what was coming, but a part of him still resisted the truth.

"This is the moment of the shooting."

Gordon's jaw tightened.

The Riddler on screen raised the pistol to the back of the unsuspecting victim's head.

Bang!

The gunshot echoed in Gordon's mind, though the footage remained silent, a stark testament to the crime.

"Single shot to the head, instant kill. The crowd panics, scattering from the sound of the gunshot." The officer continued, "Riddler drops his gun, doesn't aim at anyone else."

"He remains calm amidst the fleeing crowd. Drops the gun beside the victim, doesn't touch it again until we arrive at the scene."

"Very calm, no shouting or anything. Very professional. And up to this point, not a single word."

"This is the first patrol car responding. Officer Sean happened to be half a block away. He exits the vehicle and he's yelling at the Riddler."

"He heard it," Gordon said. "No doubt about it."

"That's all we have on the Riddler shooting John Peterson in broad daylight."

Commissioner Gordon watched as the Riddler on screen turned, looked directly at the camera, and pulled a card from his pocket, emblazoned with the Batman symbol. He smiled softly, then—

"Where is he?"

......

Interrogation room.

The desk lamp cast harsh shadows on the Riddler's face as he shifted slightly to avoid the glare.

Commissioner Gordon sat across from him.

"He won't come. Edward isn't worth his time."

"Do you know the oldest riddle? Ancient Sumer, roughly four thousand years ago."

He lifted his shackled hands slightly.

"I am everywhere, yet nowhere to be seen. I can often be escaped, but never cheated. I will find you at the crossroads, and even chase you around the corner. What am I?"

"Death."

"I can be broken, told, kept, and played. What am I?"

"I don't have time for riddles."

Commissioner Gordon cut him off. "You shot John Peterson in broad daylight, then waited for the police. Why? Did he owe you money? Did you owe him money? Did you lose to him in a poker game or something? Maybe he slept with your girlfriend—"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"The answer is a joke."

"So... about the girlfriend, that's a no then?"

"Don't you like jokes?" The Riddler asked.

He smiled sweetly, shyly, like a schoolboy answering a teacher's question, his eyes seemingly filled with innocent confusion.

"How about another guess? How did the Joker know Bane was at home that day? How did he know where you live? How did he get past your security? We both know him. He's a wild card – insane, unpredictable, but not a planner."

"..."

The Riddler made a phone jesture, imitating both the Joker and himself:

"Hey, Eddie-boy! How's that little puzzle of yours comin' along? I wanna have myself a 'bad day', but I'm outta ideas, see?"

"Well now, Joker – how 'bout you start with the Commissioner and his little girl? I got it all planned out, but it's too simple, borin' me. Sing me a song, and it's yours."

"Ooh, that sounds delightful, Eddie. Tell ya what, I'll throw in a free dance number, too!"

"Ha, ha, ha, ha!"

The Riddler's voice was light, but a young girl's fate hung heavy in the air, a dark stain spreading across the wall.

Gordon's fists clenched involuntarily.

He reminded himself this was just Nygma trying to get a rise out of him.

He couldn't let his emotions be manipulated so easily. That would mean losing control, losing his edge. Against the Riddler, that was a dangerous game to play...

"You son of a bitch – how dare you?" Gordon sprang from his chair, his hands tightening around the Riddler's neck. "How dare you say that to my face!"

But a moment later, Gordon forced himself to pull back, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Cough, cough, cough!" The Riddler choked, then sneered, "You alright there, Jimbo? You look a little peaked."

"Oh no... Did everyone find out about Officer Essen? How did you... you know, you were seeing her behind your poor pregnant wife's back?"

"She was your subordinate, man! She had a career, and then... well, we know how that ended, don't we? Poor woman."

Jim Gordon's anger curdled into shame. As he was about to succumb to it, he realized the Riddler was once again molding his emotions like clay.

He turned away, refusing to give the Riddler the satisfaction of seeing his face.

This wasn't right. In every other crime, the Riddler left a riddle at the scene.

A senseless murder without a puzzle? This didn't fit the Riddler's MO. Edward Nigma prided himself on elaborate schemes, he'd never stoop to such a low-level crime.

A chilling thought crept into Gordon's mind: something was very wrong. The Riddler... wasn't the Riddler anymore.

But it didn't matter. He was captured now.

"You'll be transferred to the newly rebuilt Arkham Asylum," Gordon stated. "You can wait there. Perhaps Batman will find time to interrogate you."

He looked at the Riddler, the man's twisted smile reflected in his own eyes.

"Do you believe that?"

He heard Edward Nigma's voice, laced with menace. "It takes twenty seconds to escape a cage."