BE-RIDDLED

Part I

By Jason McDonald

Fifteen Weeks Following the Liberation of Arkham Asylum…

Gotham City

The Former Pyramid Parlor

Halfway Up Fifth Street

Current Hideout of the Riddler Gang

Once a well-known and well-loved Egyptian-themed eatery in this otherwise dreary section of Gotham City, the Pyramid Parlor had closed down some eighteen months ago due to a cool fifty thousand dollars in unpaid back rent. The owner, having long since retired to his own private island hideaway, the former restaurant was now a dank, dusty, cobweb-littered claustrophobic shadow of its former self. Not that the members of the Riddler Gang minded much. It gave them a nice place to hole up while waiting for the day their boss would be released from Arkham Asylum.

That day happened to be today.

Two other members of the Riddler Gang stood upon two large stools above the doorway of the Pyramid Parlor. They both straddled either side of a gigantic ‘Welcome back, Eddie!’ sign, holding it in position for the third.

Query – otherwise known as Diedre Vance – gazed at the sign with a smile. She lifted up her police cap and ran her thin fingers through her blonde hair, biting her lip. “A little to the left, guys.”

With a duo of frustrated grumblings, Echo and Arthur Brown shifted the banner ever-so-slightly to the left. Query bit her ruby red lips, holding her hands out to envision the total scope of the banner.

“Hmmmm….” She smirked, mock-pondering its placement with palatable delight as her two cohorts grew more and more frustrated with her lack of decision-making.

Echo – the lovely brunette also known as Nina Damfino – finally had enough. “Diedre, we’ve been standing up here for ten minutes! Make up your damn mind!”

Query stuck out her tongue. “It’s got to be perfectly-centered, you twit! You know how Eddie pays attention to the smallest details!”

“I will perfectly center my foot up your perfectly-centered ass if you don’t let us down, now!” Echo grumbled loudly, causing Arthur Brown to raise an eyebrow.

“You promise, baby?” Query laughed, licking her lips and winking at her sometimes-lover.

“Now, now ladies,” Arthur Brown said, attempting to simmer the fires that Query and Echo typically started in such situations. “I’m sure the banner looks perfect right where it is. Right, Query?”

Echo glanced over at Arthur, pouting as he deconstructed their mock argument. When she was done passive-aggressively fuming at him, she glanced in Query’s direction. Her blood pressure nearly rose to a boil as she saw indecision etch across her girlfriend’s features.

Query picked up on Echo’s impatience and smirked, taking even more time to study the banner and decide on whether or not it was just-so.

“Well??” Nina queried crankily.

Diedre quietly slid her hands up her tight fishnet stockings and brought them to rest upon her hips as Nina stared impatiently. She took another few seconds pondering the issue, drinking up Echo’s frustration. Just before Echo could echo her previous statement, however, Query finally spoke:

“I suppose it’ll have to do.”

“Grrrr!” Echo grumbled, quickly stabbing the pin to the banner in place and angrily jumping off the chair. Arthur sighed, shaking his head, taking his time to position the banner delicately before slowly stepping down to the dusty restaurant floor. As he placed the stools quietly back where they found them, Echo strode quickly to Query’s side.

The brunette beauty placed her hands on her hips, playfully shoving her girlfriend off the spot upon which she was standing and looked upon the banner from Query’s former vantage point.

“It looks fine, you blonde bimbo!” Echo grumbled, stabbing a finger upon Query’s low-cut chest and centering upon the black question-mark symbol upon her green and black costume. “What was all that nonsense about moving the fucking thing back-and-forth, back-and-forth?”

The blonde smiled, gently grabbing her lover’s black-gloved hand. With a wink, she replied: “Just was enjoying how your butt moving back and forth while you were up there, that’s all.”

“OOOOooOOooOO!!!” Echo balled her hands up into fists, boiling with mock fury. “Diedre, I should kick your ass right now for this!”

Query smiled, bringing her lips upon her girlfriend’s mouth, gently kissing away her frustration. “Nina, I would love to see you try.”

Arthur Brown raised an eyebrow at the duo, interrupting their impromptu make-out session. “When you guys are all done over there, we do have a couple things to get together before Edward gets here.”

“Oh poo poo,” Query murmured in a cute pout. “Way to ruin our fun.”

Echo smiled, gently caressing her lover’s features. “Oh, don’t mind Arthur. He’s only trying to keep us focused.”

“That I am,” Arthur said, organizing all the prints and drawings stacked out along the table. “It’s not every day our fearless leader gets released from Arkham on a technicality.”

“You know, he could join us, Query.” Echo murmured huskily, turning her attention to Arthur. “Wouldn’t you like to be our Cluemaster, like you were last weekend?”

Arthur grinned, before his eyes opened wide, mentally dousing his addled mind with some cold water. He walked over to the girls, his demeanor suddenly deadly-serioius. “Like I told you on Saturday, no ‘Cluemaster’ stuff when the Riddler gets here! You know how he likes to be top dog.”

Both women pouted, releasing their embrace. “Yes, we know.”

“Remember, my nickname is what it’s always been: Clueless,” Arthur Brown said, glaring at the two lovers.

“Never liked that name for you,” Query said.

“Me neither,” Echo echoed. Pretty fucked up how he calls you that. Riddler’s got to relax.”

“One of these days he will,” Arthur laughed. “One of these days…”

The Cluemaster – or the Clueless – murmured before absently stacking presents on the table. “Look, he’ll be here any minute. We better have the presents and the plans ready by the time he gets here. If we’re lucky, he’ll green-light our new plan and I can begin engineering the booby traps and devices we’ll need.”

“I’ll start cleaning the guns,” Query rubbed her hands together. “Semi-automatics all around!”

“And we’ll get to blow some shit up, right?” Echo smirked, glancing at Arthur and licking her lips. “You know how I love explosions.”

“Don’t worry, girls,” Arthur tapping at the plans upon the table. “All of us have our parts to play in the greater tapestry.”

Query, Echo and Arthur both turned toward the restaurant entrance as they heard a loud rapping on the outer doors.

“Ah! Speak of the devil!” Arthur gestured, pointing to the girls. “Go! Go, get the signs! Like we discussed, hurry!”

Arthur Brown strode over to the restaurant doors, opening them proudly. Their guest stood solemn – sinister black eyes glaring at Arthur with a cold intent. His attire was impeccable and immaculate; a well-pressed dark green suit-jacket with a black tie tied tightly into place around his neck. The green and purple suit matched perfectly with his bowler hat, colored the same dark shade of green as the suit, save a single purple question-mark emblazoned boldly on the front.

The guest’s cold, dark gaze met the nervous stare of Arthur Brown and for a second, Arthur wondered if this man was truly his boss:

Edward Nigma. Otherwise known as the Riddler.

After an uncomfortable beat passed, the Riddler smiled, his lips pursed together tightly. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in, Arthur?”

Arthur Brown let out a nervous sigh. “Of course, of course. Just…ah, good to see you back. Sir.”

Riddler straightened his tie, tilted his head, and tapped his cane. “You’d better be, Clueless. So, what have you been up to while I was away?”

The question-marked villain strode arrogantly through the restaurant’s threshold, accompanied by the man he called Clueless, gazing around the hideout in mild contempt. His eyes wandered over to his two assistants – Query and Echo – who gleefully held two large flip cards. They flipped the cards over, singing its contents in rhythm as Riddler gazed at the message:

What has four lobes/

Weighs three pounds/

Has two sexy assistants/

One skilled engineer/

And can outwit a flying rodent/

Any day of the week?

The Riddler glared at the message. As he did so, Query and Echo’s grins faded as they sensed his displeasure with each passing note in their sing-song voices. The girls looked at each other nervously, before the bold Echo cracked a smile. “Get it, Eddie? Figure it out?”

The Riddler grimaced. “Of course I have, Echo.”

“The answer’s YOU!” Query pointed toward Edward Nigma, smiling bright.

Edward Nigma looked his assistant up and down with a cold, derisive sneer.

“No. I do not have four lobes, nor weigh three pounds. The answer is my brain. The Riddler’s brain has the lobes, weighs three pounds, and can outwit the flying rodent we like to call the Batman.”

“Yeah, boss,” Arthur Brown smiled, trying to lighten Riddler’s sour mood. “I mean, you escaped from the Asylum, didn’t ya? You beat the Batman.”

“I escaped on a technicality, Arthur,” the villain condescended in a vicious tone. “The warden’s hubris was what got me out of that hellhole. Not any ingenious or clever moves on my part.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Arthur said.

“As for the riddle—I can assume you were the one who came up with it?”

“Well, yeah,” Arthur smiled, proudly. “You weren’t here, so I thought I should—“

SLAP!

Query and Echo stood agape as the Riddler backhanded Arthur with the question-mark head of his brass cane, before driving it into the back of his henchman’s knee, leaving the beleaguered Cluemaster to topple painfully to the ground.

“Frontal, Parietal, Occiptal, Temporal, Limbic and Insula! The brain has six lobes, you clueless little cretin. Not four,” the Riddler hissed, counting down each of the lobes on his fingers as he spoke their names aloud. “Leave the riddles to me.”

Arthur Brown tried to stand up when Riddler’s shiny dress shoe dug itself deep into his engineer’s rib cage. Arthur Brown cried out in pain as the girls – scared at the suddenness and viciousness of the attack – dropped the signs of the riddle. Edward Nigma – the Riddler – dusted himself off, and straightened his well-pressed attire as his victim writhed on the ground. He glared at the women from underneath his green and purple bowler hat.

“Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have a caper to plan.”

Query looked at her boss, horrified. She raised her eyebrows in disbelief, biting her lip and pointing over to the table containing engineering drawings and plans. “B-b-but, we came up with this neat little plan to—“

Riddler stopped – turning to stare at the blonde beauty with an air of disgust and contempt. She could practically see the rage boiling and steaming off of him as he stood facing her. He slowly walked toward the table full of plans, presents and engineering drawings, tapping his cane upon the floor. He idly glanced over the plans, tapping his fingers on his cane and nodding his head.

With a sudden surge of movement, he brought the brass cane up to the table and swept everything onto the floor in one furious swipe of motion. Edward Nigma once again glared at Query.

“As I said before: I have. A caper. To Plan.”

The Riddler turned on a heel and walked off to what had once been the manager’s office of the Pyramid Parlor, now repurposed as the Riddler’s Room. As he did so, Query and Echo stared at his exit in utter disbelief.

Once the Riddler was gone, the fishnet-clad women rushed to Arthur’s side as the wounded man picked himself off the floor, coughing in pain as he did so. He brushed off their aide.

“I’m fine, girls. Please, don’t worry,” the beaten man rose, attempting to walk off the pain in a stumbling limp. “I’ll be okay. He doesn’t actually hit that hard.”

“What the fuck’s up his asshole?” Echo roared, gritting her teeth as Query wrapped her arms around Arthur, searching his body for wounds.

“Don’t worry, Arthur,” the luscious blonde spoke, gazing into his eyes from beneath her police cap. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Query kissed him warmly before she walked off after the Riddler. Echo placed her hands on her hips, kicking at the dust on the ground with her purple stilettos. “What happened to him in that goddamn asylum, anyway?”

“Maybe too much,” Arthur massaged his aching side, glaring in the Riddler’s direction with an angry glare etched across his face. The Cluemaster cracked his knuckles. “Then again, maybe not enough…”

The Batcave

Some Days Later

Riddling Thoughts

Batman cracked his knuckles, his detective’s mind brooding over the details of his latest quandary.

The first mistake Batman had ever made with the criminal known as Edward Nigma – the Riddler – was to assume that Nigma’s pathological need to leave riddles in the wake of his crimes stemmed from an unconscious desire to actually be caught. The dark detective once thought that the riddles themselves were cries for help – from a man no longer able to stop himself. That the psychological driver for his riddles was based on morality.

That mistake almost cost the life of the Riddler’s first hostage.

Since that time, later to be confirmed through nearly every subsequent encounter with the villain, Batman realized that the Riddler’s pathology was largely based on proving himself superior to his foe. Nigma had always been compelled to prove himself the best, even from a young age. Primarily due to the influence of his stern, cruel father figure who had held Edward to an impossibly high intellectual standard.

The Riddler’s crimes were therefore, very well-planned and thoughtfully conceived. Nigma’s meticulous nature and attention to detail had always been symptomatic of his compulsion to prove himself the best. Whereas, where his father had merely been a two-bit thug – a mere cog in the greater machine (later murdered by the head of that particular gang), Edward Nigma became the mastermind of his own gang. He’d been the one running all the cogs, coordinating all the gears:

Query, alias Diedre Vance. Expert in automatic weaponry.

Echo, alias Nina Damfino. Expert in grenades and explosives.

Clueless, alias Arthur Brown. Expert in engineering and puzzle manufacture.

Riddler, alias Edward Nigma. The brains behind it all.

Collectively known as the Riddler Gang. Query and Echo were a Thelma-and-Louise type set of anarchists whose penchant for destruction and chaos had been channeled by the Riddler into a monkey wrench that Batman typically needed to fight through before he could get to the two dangerous ones: Arthur and Edward. Edward conceived of the plots, while Arthur engineered and built the deathtraps and devices that served as the framework for most of Riddler’s puzzle plots. While the Riddler himself was a formidable enemy, the Riddler Gang was a collective headache for both the dark knight, and Gotham itself. Built upon bombs, bullets, and mayhem, the Riddler Gang had been a questionable quartet to be reckoned with…

…until the dark knight had ended their reign of terror some months ago, of course.

Slowly, but surely, each primary mover in the Riddler Gang had been released from prison on parole. Arthur Brown, Diedre Vance and Nina Damfino – known by their criminal alter-egos as Clueless, Query and Echo respectively – had all predictably violated their paroles and gone to ground, despite the Batman’s best efforts.

Now, Edward Nigma – the final puzzle piece in the gang obsessed with clues and puzzle-themed deathtraps – had been released from Arkham Asylum. Completely released, of course, not simply paroled. This outcome was, in no small part, due to Warden Bolton’s cruel mistreatment of the prisoners at the asylum.

Warden Bolton – also known as the homicidal Lock-Up – had treated the mental health facility known as Arkham like his own personal Guantanamo Bay. He’d used scare tactics, sleep deprivation, and other forms of physical and psychological torture as punishments for the criminal behavior of the inmates. Punishment was the standard operational procedure under Bolton’s iron rule – rehabilitation was less than a vestigial afterthought.

The Riddler was an inmate at Arkham during the time of Bolton’s rule. To a man like the Riddler – whose own fragile ego was supported by his ability to outwit and outmaneuver his enemies in battles of intellectual wit – such brutality upon his person had likely been psychologically devastating.

The smart inmates had lawyered-up the minute the psychotic warden had been locked away, and gotten themselves released since then on a slew of technicalities and out-of-court settlements. After all, those running the Asylum in the interim were looking to assuage all the damage Bolton’s mismanagement had done to the institution. As such, they were all-too-willing to make all kinds of deals – early paroles, early releases, time-served, all-charges-dropped and so forth – if it meant keeping the mental health care facility’s “good name” out of the press. Due to the efforts of the Arkham lawyers, Arkham was escaping the media backlash, at least for the present.

However, it also meant that the Riddler was a free man.

The Batman had already searched through the Riddler Gang’s previous known hideouts, and had staked-out several promising leads for new ones. The detective’s efforts so far; however, had been fruitless. And, as always, left his frustration mounting in the wake of such failings.

As these grim, obsessive thoughts filtered idly through the dark detective’s mind, his body concerned itself with doing a continuous handstand on the balance beam of his exercise area. His thoughts languished on the Riddler as his body balanced rigidly on the beam, a low grunt echoing across the endless expanse of the Batcave. Disciplined, as ever, the detective lamented upon the strategies and tasks he would soon need to perform as the Batman in the wake of the Riddler’s release.

The blending of demanding physical concentration with complex strategic thinking had been a common exercise during Bruce’s overseas training in the years before he’d become the Batman. Sometimes, the practice of stealth would require hours of both prolonged physical exertion. Other times, certain complex contingencies could only be planned in the heat of the moment, when all variables were laid bare. A marriage of both needs – strategic thinking and the need for concentrated muscle-memory – was often a useful solution. A solution that Bruce felt was a continued necessity in the Batman’s particular line of work.

Naturally requiring precision in both mental and bodily focus, even the slightest interruption could–

“Master Bruce?”

Bruce Wayne’s eyes shot open wide as his trance-like state was suddenly shattered to pieces, like so much cheap glass. His well-muscled form – once perfectly balanced in harmony with the balance bar – began to teeter back and forth. It was all Bruce could do to recover with a quick back flip and land – less gracefully than he’d desired – upon the exercise area’s thick, well-padded floor mats.

The dark knight drearily gazed upon the approaching figure of his butler – Alfred Pennyworth – who happened to be holding a delicious-smelling dinner tray. Bruce shot the man a well-practiced frown.

“You did that on purpose,” he said sullenly, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Did what, sir?”

“Broke my concentration.”

“Hardly.” Alfred stifled a chuckle, placing the dinner tray upon the Batman’s cluttered workbench. “I believe your growling stomach did that for you, sir.”

“I told you already, Alfred,” Bruce said, toweling beads of sweat from his forehead while ignoring the audible growling of his stomach, “I’m not in the mood for dinner right now.”

“A fact you made perfectly clear nine hours ago,” Alfred replied, checking his watch. “This is merely a post-midnight snack, to fuel your sleep-deprived delirium.”

“Post-midnight?” Bruce asked, slipping his mask back on. “It’s after midnight?”

“Indeed, sir! Your skills at detection never cease to amaze,” Alfred smirked, holding another item in his hand beneath a large handkerchief. “How the criminal and cowardly of Gotham could slip anything past you, I dare not guess.”

Bruce smiled tightly, rolling his tired eyes as he massaged the bridge of his nose. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“Speaking of things slipping past, do you sense anything else that might have slipped your notice?” Alfred questioned as the dark knight’s stomach led him toward the well-spiced and well-seasoned sandwich sitting upon the dinner tray. “Something specific about today, that you might want to be reminded about?”

“Well,” Bruce Wayne began, taking a healthy bite of the post-midnight snack. “There were those areas you’d suggested earlier as places the Riddler Gang might be headed towards next. I still need to check those out, if that’s what you–?”

“Perhaps, it was something closer to the life of Bruce Wayne, rather than the lives of the bats in his belfry?”

Bruce Wayne raised an eyebrow at his butler, bemused. “Clever, Alfred,”

Alfred nodded appreciatively. “Thank you, sir.”

Bruce hummed, already halfway-through his sandwich. “Well, the board of directors was calling for a meeting – to discuss the marketing plan for the Nomexline Mark II fireproof suit Wayne Enterprises had developed. They wanted to market it specifically to the government sector, for various hazmat sites, in addition to the stated purpose of fire-fighting gear. They say they can use the money gained from the government funds to create suits for distribution among the firefighting outfits, whose budgetary constraints are state-driven, rather than governmentally-regulated. Though, I must make sure that the quality expected for both hazmat and fire-fighting functionalities are equally-high, regardless of the potential cost overruns for Wayne Enterpr–“

“Ahem,” Alfred cleared his throat suddenly, gesturing politely to the two items he’d been concealing under a rather large handkerchief. “Perhaps these two items, in addition to the number six, might be worthy clues in this memory-jogging endeavor we find ourselves in.”

Bruce looked at the items in awe, slapping himself on the forehead and cursing himself for his forgetfulness. “My six month anniversary with Veronica! I completely forgot!”

“Indeed you did, Master Bruce,” Alfred chided politely, producing the flowers and heart-shaped box of chocolates. He laid the two items beside Bruce’s now nearly-empty dinner tray.

“I took the liberty of convening a decidedly-romantic getaway at Veronica’s stately mansion later tomorrow night.” Alfred checked the time again, and with a smirk, replied: “Or rather, later tonight, since you so-astutely pointed out the passing of the midnight hour.”

Bruce furrowed his brow toward his butler, patting his full-mouth with the napkin provided.

Alfred continued. “I’ll be driving you there at five o’clock today following your full day’s work as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, of course. That is where you and the lovely Ms. Lavigne will share a splendid evening together of fine dining and fine wines, the latter of which is scheduled to be delivered to the premises upon our arrival. Your better half, of course, shall remain none-the-wiser of your…ahem, memory lapse, concerning the significance of today’s date.”

Bruce downed the last of his sandwich excitedly, washing it down with a swig of water. He gestured delightedly towards his butler. “Alfred, you are a life-saver! Thank you so–“

“Not done, Master Bruce,” Alfred held up one finger, pointing it at the dark knight detective. “There is one final thing you must do before any of these things can occur.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow knowingly. Of course there was a catch. He let out a breath, suddenly realizing how tired he was.

“Oh?” the dark detective asked. “Now, what would that be?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to lie prone, uninterrupted, for the remaining four hours until Wayne Enterprises beckons for its CEO to begin his day. Unfortunately, this leaves you frightfully-little time for any steadfast brooding, trance-like training techniques, workout regimens, and gallivanting caped-and-cowled across the rooftops of the city.

Bruce rubbed his bloodshot eyes, smiling as Alfred continued his rant.

“Your eyelids must be tightly-shut, preferably experiencing some form of rapid-eye-movement and clad not in your typically-dreadful nighttime attire, but in a respectable pair of honest pajamas. Pajamas which, I of course, have taken the liberty of laying out for you upstairs in your bedchambers. They’re laying upon something called a bed, which I’m sure you’ve heard of, in passing?”

Bruce pursed his lips with bemusement, and let out a soft chuckle. “Sleep. You want me to go to sleep.”

“Naturally, Master Bruce.”

The dark detective stretched his tired limbs, yawning. “You could have just said so, Alfred.”

“True. However, given your proclivity to avoid the entire concept at all costs, I felt the need to spell it out for you would drive the point home rather swimmingly.”

Bruce gave Alfred another well-practiced glare. His butler, now satisfied his point was made, began his stroll up the winding stairs of the Batcave. As he did so, Bruce Wayne continued to sit in his chair, stubbornly ignoring the fact that he was currently too tired to do any good as the Batman.

“If you are, as I suspect, deathly allergic to this sleep phenomenon, I left some allergy pills for you on your nightstand,” Alfred called down to the stone-faced knight as he turned off the lights to the Batcave, leaving the detective awash in a sea of endless darkness. “Pleasant dreams, Master Bruce.”

The Batman stared in silence at the steps, knowing he was beaten. With little more than a yawn and a grimace, Bruce Wayne trudged solemnly up the stairs.

Veronica Lavigne’s Estate

The Outskirts of Gotham City

Six Month Anniversary

CLANG!

Bruce Wayne and Veronica Lavigne – both wearing little more than a smile – clinked their champagne glasses together amidst the soothing hot bubbles of Veronica’s own private hot tub. The Russian supermodel discreetly slurped down the mixture through her dark red lipstick, licking her lips as the CEO of Wayne Enterprises did the same beside her.

Her estate was located on a remote mountaintop far out in the suburbs of Gotham City. From their perch upon the hot tub on the outside deck, the couple gazed at the towering peaks surrounding them, taking in the expansive moonlit scenery with a serenity and joy that rarely came to the deadline-and-appointment-filled lifestyles of supermodels and executives.

“Happy six months, my darling,” Veronica said in her seductive Russian accent, biting her lip as she looked upon her lover.

“I can hardly believe it’s already been six months,” Bruce Wayne smiled, finding an ever-fleeting peace inside the lovely sparkling of her eyes.

“I can hardly believe you remembered our anniversary, darling,” she said sweetly, gently-chiding his forgetful nature as she sipped at her champagne glass, devouring him with her eyes.

“I’m full of surprises, Veronica,” he replied, gesturing another toast as the sparkling wine slid down their greedy gullets.

“Yes, you are, beloved,” she replied with a wink.

The Dom Perignon had been delivered to the door as Alfred had promised. Bruce Wayne had followed this up by the rich bouquet of multi-colored roses and the heart-shaped box of chocolates, provided by his less-forgetful butler. The final item had taken Bruce on a trek that had consumed the entirety of his lunch break and left him open to a barrage of appointment-filled madness upon his return to the Wayne tower that afternoon.

Still, it was worth it, Bruce Wayne thought. As much as he’d appreciated Alfred’s help with getting this anniversary just right, it wouldn’t be right if there wasn’t something that was from Bruce himself:

A diamond-plated necklace – currently the only thing Veronica Lavigne was still wearing in the hours since his arrival. The bedroom had been their previous stop before the hot tub. Then, the living room. Then, the kitchen. Then, the living room again. However many stops it had taken, they finally were down here, in the soothing warmth of the hot tub. The appreciation for the diamond necklace still glittering brightly in her eyes, Veronica toyed with her gift happily. Bubbles lazily popping around her body, her lovely eyes gazed up once again toward her own personal knight in shining armor.

He gazed upon the necklace draped around her bare, wet neck – glittering and sparkling in the shining moonlight. Diamonds surrounding a glimmering scarlet centerpiece.

Necklace. Shining bright. Diamond bright white with a scarlet centerpiece. Like the Scarlet Lynx necklace.  

The one which Magpie had stolen from Baubles and Trinkets. The one which Batman knew Catwoman had stolen from Arkham Asylum’s evidence vault only fifteen weeks ago.

Yet, there was no proof. Only suspicions. Only distrust. Only the biting words of the Bat.

 Against the cunning cleverness of his Cat…

Bruce’s eyes went wide, entranced by the sudden, unwelcome thought.

“Bruce?”

The CEO shook his head suddenly, dismissing the thought. There were no bats. There were no cats. No mysteries to solve, no riddles to deduce. No madmen in black to defeat. There was only the hot tub, the night sky, and the lovely–

“Veronica?” he answered, smiling.

“Bruce, are you okay?”

“Absolutely fine, my darling.”

“Are you sure? You seemed like you were a million miles away.”

“Just,” he kept on the smile, as a cuddly little kitten kept scratching at the back of his mind, “–just thinking about work.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Veronica purred.

Bruce cleared his throat nervously. “No, it’s nothing important. Just deadlines and budgets, meetings and more budgets. Boring stuff.”

“Ah,” she gently lamented with a pout.

Technically the truth. The day had been filled with talks of the tech department’s continuous budget overruns, another frustrating encounter with Aldous Kain, an update concerning the Wayne Foundation Clinic for the Emotionally Troubled, and several other project updates and proposals needing executive approval and oversight. It had been a troubling day…

…but perhaps most troubling was how the nighttime obsessions of the Batman wouldn’t stop intruding on the daytime activities of Bruce Wayne. Perhaps it was just fatigue as Alfred had suggested. Nevertheless, the thoughts plagued Bruce’s mind as vividly now as they would if he were still clad in the black costume of the dark knight himself.

Riddler’s release from Arkham. The whereabouts of the Riddler Gang. What their next heist would be. Catwoman’s theft of the Scarlet Lynx necklace and the burden of proof that lie with the Batman. The nagging thought that his purchase of the necklace for Veronica was subconsciously triggered by the memory of the Scarlet Lynx necklace for Selina.

No. That couldn’t be it. God help him if that was the truth.

“You’re lucky,” the red-haired beauty before him said.

“Am I?” Bruce Wayne put his best poker face on. “How so?”

“That your work today was boring.”

“Boring? Well, more busy than boring, I’d say. Busy with boring stuff.”

“I’d love to be busy with boring stuff.”

He laughed. “You would not!”

“Nyet, my love,” Veronica smiled. “I would give up my traipsing about the globe, clad in one ridiculous costume after another if I could do what you do.”

“Well, I did enjoy that ridiculous costume you wore in Glamour.”

“Oh, Bruce! Be serious for one second.”

“I am serious,” he pointed to himself as a demonstration. “That costume went all the way down to your–.”

She pointed a finger playfully at him. “First of all, that was a swimsuit – a swimsuit! Not a costume. Second, my navel was–that’s not the point!”

“And what is your point then?”

Veronica sighed. “The point is that I would love to do what you do. Take the reins of a company and do some good with it.”

“I’ve seen your donations to charity. They are very, very generou–“

“That is not what I mean, my love,” she spoke, her eyes glazing over. “Your Wayne Enterprises is an institution in the world of Gotham. It is an empire that controls the lives of so many citizens in this wonderful city. You have power, Bruce. Real power. The kind of power it takes to make a difference. With Gotham the way it is – you know what I mean by that, I’m sure – the power to enact real change is a precious thing.”

Bruce Wayne nodded, thinking of all ways he’d been able to change Gotham for the better with the company his father had given him. Gratitude filled his heart.

“That is what I mean by doing what you do,” she continued. “Having the power to make a difference. Not just to sell out magazines, but to do some real good in this world. The Russia I grew up in…it really could have used a person like you, watching over it. A place like Wayne Enterprises. The people in my district could have used someone like you to show them the way.”

“Veronica, I–,” Bruce Wayne covered his mouth in awe as a sea of once-tightly-bottled emotions seemed to pour out of his beautiful girlfriend. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he could do to chase the ghosts of her past away. “Veronica, I’m so sorry.”

He went over to kiss her, holding her close. She clutched him just as tight, nestling herself into his chest.

“It’s–it’s not your fault, Bruce,” she said, wiping away what almost were tears. “My past is passed. What matters now…”

She stroked his cheek gently, gazing up at him, a sudden vulnerability cast among her immaculate features.

“…is what we do with our future.”

Bruce Wayne looked into his lover’s gorgeous eyes, the moment of pregnant silence hanging long and sullen between them. Several beats passed as they moved closer, and closer together, as if to share a gentle kiss. The solace they found in silence was shattered by a loud vibration above them. He glanced toward the small glass table that sat next to Veronica’s hot tub, and the smartphone that lay atop it. The sound was the smartphone vibrating upon delicate, crystalline glass – the sound of a call in progress.

Curious. Bruce knew he hadn’t left it on vibrate. There should have been a loud chirping sound. Much louder than this.

“My phone. What–?” Bruce paused, contemplating the mystery as he swept himself out of the arms of his lover and scooped himself away from the hot tub’s soothing warmth. Stepping over to the table above, he toweled off his prune-fingers, picked up the phone and swiped at the screen to take the call. Unfortunately, he only managed to unlock the screen instead. He’d missed the call by milliseconds.

“Sorry, Bruce,” Veronica cooed lightly in her thick, Russian accent. Just like a professional, all hint of the earlier chink in her armor was gone. Her vulnerability passed, like a puff of smoke wafting away in the wind. She smiled sweetly. “I put the phone on vibrate when you went to the bathroom earlier.”

“You put it on vibrate?” Bruce asked. There was more panic in the question than he’d have preferred.

“Well, you’re always taking some call or another on that thing,” the supermodel said, cutting across the hot tub, staring seductively up at him. “Is there anything wrong with wanting you all to myself?”

Bruce smiled back politely, not willing to allow himself the distraction until he figured out what was going on.

Once he did so, his brow furrowed with concern: Six missed calls from Alfred?

Bruce’s mind filtered through all the worst-case-scenarios that were rapidly filling his thoughts. The terrible sounds of screeching cascaded across the darkened caverns of his troubled mind. Bruce’s eyes then darted to the blinking text message, received several minutes before the calls.

He opened the text message up and scrolled down. As he read through its contents, his eyes nearly popped out of his head:

Dear Batman,

“According to this second rule

I never fall, I only rise

Unless you reach my secret place

Where unseen riddles run amok”

Your friend in crime,

The Riddler

A message from Edward Nigma – the Riddler.

Addressed to the Batman.

On Bruce Wayne’s phone.

“My God,” Bruce Wayne breathed out.

Inside the millionaire’s addled mind, a bevy of beleaguered bats would not stop screeching.

Next Issue:

The Riddler’s newest crime spree begins, but is there dissention among the ranks of the irredeemable Riddler Gang? What is the Riddler’s newest crime spree, anyway? And besides that, how has his stint in Arkham Asylum changed our callous Mr. Edward Nigma anyway? (Undoubtedly it’s changed him for the better, of course!)

Plus: Has the Riddler discovered the Batman’s secret identity, thus resolving the Greatest Riddle of All Time (or at least, in this series)? Or is there a secondary layer to this puzzle?

Question, clues, riddles and mysteries await you, my friends, in the aptly-titled “Be-Riddled: Part Two!”