This story has nothing to do with my Twelve Days of Riddler series. Think of it as me starting anew with a whole new universe.
If I haven't said it by now and it needs to be said, nothing familiar within these stories is mine. (That was a disclaimer).
...but I mean, really. You know what site you're on, if you think any of this is mine, then you're smoking the good stuff. You know what I mean? (I mean the dope or whatever the heck you kids are calling it nowadays...with your rock n' roll eight-track tapes and your Perry Como).
As with my other stories, I don't follow a particular universe, but merely use the characters. Erm...Batman will always be Bruce Wayne to me and...that's all you should know (without ruining anything). And yes, I'm writing a wee bit of Two-Face into this story, because he's awesomesauce on cake, so go fleece a sheep if you don't like him! (Don't actually do that.)
Cardboard Monsters
Chapter One: I'm Going Slightly
**Edward**
It was about eight forty-eight in the evening.
Edward Nygma, lanky and tall, was stretched out on the Spartan cot in his very cold, very clinical cell, staring at the ceiling, pondering space and time.
The roughly hewn blankets scratched at the bare flesh of his forearms where he had rolled his off white, long sleeved undershirt up over the drab grey short sleeves of his Arkham inmate scrubs. He looked rumpled and ragged, but still very much his dashing self.
The asylum was both hot and cold, the temperature varied from therapy room, to lunch room and all spaces in between.
As it was, his cell was cold on the East side and hot on the West, but since his cot was bolted down to the cement floor, his only option for lounging was to simply roll his sleeves up while vacationing in Tahitian hell, before pulling them back down for the long, cold trek through the Artic halls for his meetings with therapists and psychologists and doctors and lawyers and all manner of people who wanted to poke and prod him (or his wallet).
Drawing the constellation of Cassiopeia in the air above him, his long, elegant finger paused at HIP 6686 in the formation at the rattling sound of the elevator arriving on the floor. The sounds of it's dry, grating pulleys wafted down the white hall, touching the ears of all the inmates on 3-B.
He was tempted to go to the door to try and catch a glimpse of the going's on like all the other inmates, but resisted the urge, not wanting to become just another gawping mug among a sea of gawping mugs.
But when the crass gaggle of low-brow miscreants began cat-calling, his interest became piqued and he grudgingly got to his feet to investigate the source of the noise.
Unlike the other uncouth morons, he refused to plaster his face eagerly against the bars of his door, opting instead to stand quietly beside it, keeping an eye out for the source of the excitement.
Presently Doctor Liddell came into sight, along with a beautiful brunette.
Edward sneered ever so. The woman obviously knew she was going to be walking down a hall lined with desperate prisoners - most of whom hadn't even sniffed a woman in years - and she wore the shortest skirt possible that displayed long, beautifully tanned legs.
"And of course on your left is prisoner 9273-292804, Edward Nygma, also known as-"
"The Riddler," the woman said, studying Edward like one would study a monkey in a zoo. "Of course."
"Clever girl," Edward said coolly. "But of course dolphins are clever as well and look where they end up."
Doctor Liddell tapped his tazer baton sharply against the door as a warning. "That's enough, Edward."
"Et tuna, Brute." Edward replied simply.
Turning his back foolishly on the Riddler, Doctor Liddell began pontificating to the young woman. "Edward wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for his extreme arrogance. It's his Achilles heel to incriminate himself through clues." The good doctor shot Edward a cold look over his shoulder. "Not that brilliant if you ask me."
It was exactly two months prior that Doctor Liddell and Edward had a falling out. The doctor pushed too far into Edward's past and the Riddler pushed back. Hard.
Touching his fingertips together, Edward smiled winningly. "Why, my mind is sick, doctor. You've said so yourself. A broken clock still tells the time, and twice a day it's usually correct."
Quirking a brow, Doctor Liddell motioned the young woman away from the cell towards the one opposite the hall from Edward's.
"Inmate 3884-199390, Jonathan Crane."
"Doctor Crane." Crane pointed out, appearing in the slats of his cell door. "I didn't study my ass off to have some two-bit hack of a psychologist ignore my well earned title."
"Did Doctor Liddell tell you he got his diploma out of a cereal box, Miss?" Edward purred.
"Come now, Edward," Crane replied. "He studied hard at the University of My-Parents-Bought-Me-This-Degree."
Doctor Liddell, flustered, took hold of the young woman and led her away from the two quickly, but not before the woman could flash a charming grin at the prisoners.
For the longest time Edward and Crane remained at their doors, before both slunk back into the darkness of their cells.
Edward resumed his position on the cot, studying time and space.
A new trainee that was that clueless about what she wore on the floor usually meant one thing.
Someone was either going to get busted out or the woman was about to become the newest addition to the rogue gallery.
It was only three minutes to midnight.
Edward didn't have a clock, but he was sure it was three minutes to midnight because the guard ambled down the hall like a fat bull, peering into the rooms, checking on the prisoners right on schedule.
When the dumb ox poked his nose into Edward's cell, he found the Riddler in the middle of Beethoven's Fur Elise, playing with his fingers in mid air. He had to keep his mind sharp and if memorizing the music during his visits to the asylum library meant memorizing sheet music, then so be it. They weren't allowed to take the books back to their cells.
"Going mad yet?" The guard taunted.
"Not yet. You keep me sedated enough that I'm blissfully tranquil." He replied, fingers still caressing a ghostly piano.
"Doctor Liddell wants a word with you. Assume the position, freak." The guard ordered.
In most places where the prisoners were told to 'assume the position' it was probably the last thing one would want to hear on a dark, lonesome night. However, in Arkham it meant stand in the little yellow box on the floor and place your hands in the little yellow circles on the wall, lest you get tranq'd.
Edward did just that, as the guard unlocked the door.
Liddell entered.
He was a short, wiry little blond fellow who hadn't the brains nor the muscles to try anything without a guard or two backing him.
"Edward," Liddell said softly, perching on Edward's cot. "You were very rude to my guest today."
"On the contrary, Doctor, I thought I was quite charming." Edward replied.
The tazer baton's handle cracked across Edward's ribs and he flinched, but refused to make any sound other than a surprised grunt.
"You know, I have been placed in a very delicate position here at Arkham, Edward." Doctor Liddell went on. "I feel so much for the prisoners here, yet I can't help but feel they're beyond help. All I can do is watch the animals here and keep them in line."
"You could certainly print that on an inspirational poster and stick it on a cubicle wall, doctor."
"I try to have patience with you, Edward. But your ego is as big as your mouth."
"May I ask a question, doctor? Before you get your goons to beat me about the head and neck again…"
"Edward, we discussed this. Last time you lashed out at me, the guards were merely doing their duty."
"And who'd trust an inmate, I know the rigmarole. I've made the assumption that after the situation in your office, the night I broke your hand, the outcome was going to be that one of us was going to die."
"Well, you did test at genius levels." Liddell said. "I can't quite argue with you there, Edward."
Edward chuckled. "I did test at genius levels, didn't I?"
"Your question?"
"How do you know when it's the end?"
"Is this a riddle?"
"Of sorts. But I ask the questions, doctor. You provide the answers." He repeated his question. "How do you know when it's the end?"
"Of what?" Liddell demanded. "Edward, I never cared for riddles, could you just ask me a normal question like a normal human being?"
"This is normal, doctor. I'm sick in the head." He chuckled. "It's normal for Crane to find beauty in fear, it's normal for the Joker to find comedy in tragedy and it's normal for me to speak in riddles. But then again, doctor, isn't the world one giant riddle?"
Somewhere in Arkham an explosion rocked the third floor.
Liddell was on his feet. "What the hell was that?"
Without wasting time, Edward took hold of the tazer baton still resting threateningly at his side and snapped the guard's wrist. As pandemonium took control, Liddell fled the room, leaving Edward with a wounded guard and another approaching him.
Down the halls inmates were cheering and screaming and enjoying the moment as smoke filled B wing, rising up into the third floor from the floors below.
Someone was breaking out and Edward was going to seize the opportunity to get back at that little rat fink Liddell.
The approaching guard held his own tazer baton like it was a sword and Edward laughed, suddenly drawing himself up out of his attack position, standing cavalierly near his cell toilet.
"I'm sorry, did I make a mess of things?"
The guard didn't hesitate to throw himself at the prisoner, but Edward darted out of his path and stuck him in the ribs with the baton.
The pig squealed as his bacon fried and Edward smirked darkly.
He wasn't a killer by nature, merely necessity, but a good zap never hurt any of the inmates, why would it harm a guard?
Kneeling he picked up the fallen baton, throwing it away from the guard who's wrist he had snapped (who had passed out from the pain) and hastily began undressing.
Across the hall from his cell, Crane peered out at him.
"Whatever are you doing?"
"Taking my moment, Jonathan." Edward replied, stripping off his shirts.
"I want in." Crane said.
Pausing, the Riddler eyed his long time friend.
"If I can get you out safely without hindering my escape."
Quickly, Edward stripped one of the guards and slipped into the uniform, pulling the riot helmet visor down over his face.
The keys for Crane's cell were at the nurse's station at the end of the hall by the elevator, he'd have to hope she was distracted by whatever the hell else was going on to ignore him.
Above his head the sirens whined, indicating someone had triggered the lock-down.
Edward slipped out of his cell in time for the door to close and lock on it's own.
A group of guards stormed down the hall, passing by him with a cursory glance.
"Is the patient secured?" One of them asked him.
Edward nodded and answered in a gruff voice that would blend in with the primates the asylum hired for guards. "Yep, put him to sleep like a little princess."
The guards moved on, in a hurry to check the entire floor.
Two steps into his flee for the nurses station another explosion rocked the asylum and he was thrown forward as the ceiling overhead crumbled.
"Security alert, cellblocks B through E!" The overhead speakers crackled. "All units lock down! Repeat lock down! Arkham is dead to all comers!"
Another explosion cut off the overhead speakers and threw Edward against the wall beside his cell door, he fell flat on his ass and coughed as the air was filled with dust and debris.
The cell next to Crane's was blown wide open, the plumbing from the toilet sprayed everywhere adding to the cement dust and creating a hell of a muck puddle.
Jonathan Crane calmly emerged from the gaping wound in Arkham, stepped over the muck and the corpse of the dead inmate to approach Edward. He was covered with the same detritus that was everywhere, but somehow looked like it was just another day in the park for him.
The two of them headed in the opposite direction that the guards had gone, moving towards the nurses station.
The poor woman behind the bulletproof plexiglass watched them approach with wide eyes.
Crane calmly folded his arms and leaned against the glass as another explosion tore apart the end of the hall.
"How does one get out of the black hole of Calcutta during a lock down?" Edward asked politely.
The woman's mouth moved like a fish gasping for water, before she squeaked.
It wasn't an intellectual squeak by any means.
Scoffing, Edward turned to Crane. "It's like she thinks we're going to eat her face, Jonathan."
Angling his head, Crane studied the speechless woman with a furrow in his pale brow.
"Parlez-vous anglais?" He tried.
From out of the mess down the hall, Jervis Tetch joined them. Quiet as almost always, blue eyes wide with amazement at the explosions.
The nurse worked her mouth some more as more inmates joined the two at the nurses station.
Sighing, Edward shrugged. There wasn't much he could do to get at her through the plexiglass without something more powerful than a tazer. "Well, we can't all be eloquent, hm?" He decided to try his luck at finding his own way out of the lock down, Crane and Tetch at his side.
They ran through the third floor, taking detours where they could.
Pulling the three of them to a stop in an interview room as a group of guards carrying semiautomatic weapons thumped noisily down the corridor outside, Edward frowned.
"How to escape hell when the devil has the gates locked?" He pondered.
Jervis chirped. "Through the looking glass."
For a second Edward thought that the Mad Hatter had perhaps skipped his meds for the day, but then he spied a two-way mirror on the wall across from where they hid.
He snapped his fingers. "Why, my slightly cracked hatter! Beyond the looking glass lies the tunnels for doctors and observing guests! It leads right down the rabbit hole into the front hall!"
Jervis smiled shyly.
Leaping to his feet, Edward grabbed hold of a heavy wooden chair and tossed it at the glass.
The chair bounced off harmlessly.
Stroking his chin, Edward eyed the rejected chair. "Perhaps something more powerful than a mere chair?"
"Perhaps a stronger tosser, Edward?" Crane suggested.
Outside they heard a commotion further down the corridor, then a bevy of gunshots.
Cautiously Edward moved to the door and peeked out. He drew his head back, before sticking it out further.
Down the hall a ways Two-Face stood over a mess of fallen guards, calmly securing a Kevlar vest to his chest, before stooping to pick up an automatic rifle.
Edward whistled low to catch his attention.
Shouldering the weapon, Two-Face approached.
"What?" He snarled.
"We have a way out," Edward greeted as the double sided man entered their sheltered room. "You have the muscle. How about we put our brains and brawn together?"
Sticking the grotesque side towards the group, Two-Face snarled. "Why would we do anything for you?"
Edward grabbed a hold of the man's head and turned it so that he was speaking to Harvey, the rational side. "Because I'm the only one here who knows how to bypass the security locks on the second floor to get to the first, Harvey."
Harvey Dent quirked a dark, elegant brow and turned Two-Face back on Edward. "Fine. But if things turn ugly we're using you as a human shield."
"From where I'm standing, things can't get much uglier," Edward replied.
The four of them huddled behind a shrub outside of Arkham.
They were going to get away in a car, but the GCPD had already arrived and were blocking the entrance gates to the asylum, so they were creeping around back to where the guards kept a boat for escapees who decided to go by sea across the bay to Gotham.
It wasn't much for Two-Face to mow down the guards sent to secure the boat, he had the gun and the insanity that gave him the edge and now with a plethora of dead guards he had the additional ammo.
Clamouring onto the boat, Edward turned the stolen key in the ignition and the boat purred to life.
With the boat now wide awake, he tore away from the dock laughing merrily as Jervis gripped the seat he was in and muttered a panicked sound.