¿-? Chapter Seven ¿-?

"Can't you satisfy your greed? Get what you need. Was it only envy? So empty." ~ Soul Asylum

Look at all the pretenders… Wannabes, all of them. Thieves without a clue where the real money lies strike aimlessly at any till that looks easy enough; serial killers, who have no way to slate their hunger, leave their prey an unsightly mess; fraudsters who think they're a whiz in Photoshop secure their folly by printing everything on plain Xerox paper. Every one of them leaving behind vital forensic evidence like it was Silly-string at the office Christmas 'do. Where are the theatrics? The call to challenge? These days, they all get caught on their first heists, their first kills. Gotham villains have forgotten their heritage. No… more importantly: they've forgotten the Game. The Joker would be turning in his straight-jacket – that's if they can keep it on him long enough to cut the blood-flow to his arms.

I will make them remember their roots… set the bar higher for the charlatans. Screw the Gotham Times, my scheme will send my name to international headlines. Criminal profilers will write books in attempt to understand me, perhaps even a biopic film inspired by the exploits of one Edward 'the Riddler' Nigma.

When I say that masterminding a plan is like solving a riddle I'm not just fuelling my own ego. You present yourself with a seemingly impossible problem. You can wrack your brain for hours, days, weeks even, and still not come up with an answer. Until you find that one piece. One dire piece is all it takes for the rest to fall into place like chocolate in a mold. This time, that piece was Jonathan Crane, alias The Scarecrow. Question: Why did I not ask Dr Quinzel to do the profile work? After all, she was once a psychiatrist at Arkham. Answer: because I don't just want these minds profiled, I want them dissected. As a one-time psychology professor, Dr Crane made his living dissecting minds for the sake of his protégés.

"Eddie! What have you done this time?"

"What gives you that idea, old buddy?"

"You'd never call me this late unless you'd somehow found yourself up shit-creek and you need to borrow a paddle. I'm breaking my parole just accepting this call so make it quick."

"Alright then, but just so you know, I haven't done anything… yet."

"It had to be one or the other. What do you want?"

"A favour, pretty simple for someone of your capabilities but I wouldn't have a clue where to begin."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Ed," I heard him sigh. "But, why do I get the feeling that I'm the only person who you'd admit to being stumped?"

"So, being my confidant isn't good enough all of a sudden? All I need you to do is find out a few weaknesses for me. In people, not vaults."

"Who's?"

"I have a little list… I'll send it to you through the Network page."

"Alright, anything else?"

"Not at the moment, but I think you'll find the names intriguing enough on their own. Catch you later, Jonny. Stay outta trouble."

"Shouldn't I be saying that?" I heard him utter as I placed the handset back in its cradle.

G.U.N. is a networking site set up by me that only a select few of Gotham's elite criminals are a part of. Each page is automatically encoded one-tenth of a second before it is even submitted, eliminating sniffers from the likes of Google and Yahoo!, even the Government's highest quality search engines overlook its critical information. I logged in long enough to send Crane my list, saw the name ArleenFenn – aka, Harley Quinn – in the 'online' column and quickly logged out again before she could send me one of her annoying private messages. Honestly, why the hell did Joker have to insist I invite her into the Network? Within five minutes, I received a short text message from Jonathan: "I'll do it." I knew I could count on you, I smiled to myself.

How long would it take for Jonathan to finish the profiles? Already I was getting impatient: I longed for the moment when I could call Batman 'Bruce' to his face just to see him lose his cocky composure in the time it takes to utter that one syllable. Ah, but true genius cannot be rushed… I will have to be patient, no matter how often I saw that smug square jaw of his melt in shock deep within my Third Eye. Oh, yes… my moment will come, Dark Knight, and the bravest man shall fear the hallowed name of The Riddler. I could see it all unfold as I dreamed that night: the greatest heroes and villains of both Gotham and Metropolis will kneel before me one by one like dominoes. All in the name of Edward Nigma.

I slept uneasily, not even closing my eyes until 3am. Typically, I awoke at 9:30 with only half an hour before checkout time and my plane home left in another hour. As I hastily packed my laptop and secondary suit, the phone next to the bed chirruped and I almost jumped out of my skin. I would've left it but for my gut telling me it would be Elliott on the other end.

"Nigma, what have you got for me this morning?"

So much for the first-name-basis. "A start, nothing more. Look, I'll ring you when I get back to Gotham, I have to be out of here in five minutes."

"Just give me two."

I checked my watch, "I don't have two."

"You just said you have five."

Shit, I though doctors were supposed to be smart. "Figure of speech," I answered with an exasperated sigh, "I'll ring you from the plane, then if it's so urgent." Without waiting for his next protest, I hung up and half-ran out the door. Almost forgetting my cane as I went, I reached in and grabbed it from where it leaned before the door shut behind me for good.

What the hell had I been thinking accepting such a task? Sure, I've pulled Batman's strings before – it wasn't hard either: when I said 'jump' he already knew how high. But… something back then had been different. I had been further from myself, further from little Edward Nashton than I'd ever been before the Lazarus Pit. Perhaps that was the same Riddler I saw when I awoke within the Sphinx; not the Riddler at all, but another entity wearing him like a shell. Perhaps that was his message: in order to fulfill my final Destiny, I had to become Him once again.

Half-an-hour from Philadelphia in a private cabin, arrive at Gotham in time for the lunch-rush at the airport's McDonald's… and a painstaking phone-call from Thomas Elliott to last the trip. Yeah, you can tell I'm really looking forward to it.

"So where's the fire?" I asked as soon as Elliott answered. At the same time I was logging into G.U.N. Good: Harley was gone. In her place was one HenryMurphy – Jonathan Crane. [waiting for me?] I messaged him.

"You need to learn not to do that," Elliott sounded a bit miffed that I'd hung up on him at the hotel. [Naturally, Gorsh.] crane replied. [It looks like you've picked everyone by their abilities.] [May I ask what you have in mind?]

"You're in no position to threaten me, Tommy, but I'll let that slide for now." [you're looking at it] "What do you want?" [that list is just a start] [a way to see what i have to work with] [why so curious, murph?]

"I want to know where all this is headed, what you're getting me into." [In simple curiosity not an answer in itself, Gorsh?] [I can see this will be a Means.] [But to what End?]

"The ultimate death of Bruce Wayne, as agreed." [the death of batman] [with a sprinkling of humiliation just to make it all worth it] […] [you want in don't you]

"And we can't just do it outright because…?" [Am I that easy to read?]

"Because a man in his er, vocation, is forever on his guard. We'd need to knock him off a bit first." [yes, murph, you are] "Draw his attention, bat him around a bit, utterly fuck with his head." [i think i can find a place for you] "Have you ever watched a cat playing with a mouse, Tommy? When I was a kid, I once saw an old tom bat around a wild mouse until every bone in its body was broken. When the mouse could no longer move, the cat got bored and just left it to an agonizing death. I – uh, we – need to be that cat." The tiny trickle just hit half-a-mile of rapids. [gtg, murph] [i'm on a roll] [catch up when i get home]

" 'Draw his attention'? Like a robbery or something?"

"No… too cliché, too small. Think BIG, Tommy."

"A museum heist?"

"Bigger. More personal."

" 'Personal'? As in a kidnapping?"

"Now you're with me, Tommy!"

"Anyone in mind?"

"Hmmm… someone high up but not from WayneTech – I don't want Batsy to think the job is local. Maybe Metropolis – whatzitcalled – LexCorp."