The alarm clock on the bedside table rang at 8:00 am, but Edward Nigma was already wide awake. He didn't sleep much nowadays. That was to be expected when one was in a transitional phase of their life. At least, that was what Edward told himself when the dreams and the memories wouldn't let him rest. It was getting less convincing day by day. Edward brought one hand to his face and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion and frustration. He'd only managed about three hours of sleep last night. He considered calling in sick for the day and telling his secretary to hold his calls. It was a tempting thought, but he shook it off and made his way across his well-kept if cramped apartment to his bathroom. He needed the money his private detective agency brought in. More importantly, he needed the distraction. He'd already spent too much time these last few weeks alone with his thoughts.

Edward began his morning routine like clockwork. He showered, shaved, brushed his teeth, slicked back his hair, and picked out his outfit for the day. Well, more like decided whether he'd wear green or black slacks and with what shirt color that day. He picked black slacks and the white dress shirt. Why mess with the classics?

Edward stood in front of his vanity mirror as he did his tie and took one last, appraising look. He was as well put together as he usually was, save for the dark circles under his eyes. He frowned as he looked at his reflection. His memories of his time as the Riddler faded in and out these days, but he swore that his eyes were a duller shade of green than they used to be. Wouldn't he be better off he he just-

"You're reformed," he told himself, firmly. "You don't need to leave riddles anymore. You get all the challenge you need from solving cases. You're happy." He raised an eyebrow at the last part. "Well, maybe that's an overstatement."

'The Riddler was dead, but Edward Nigma was alive and well.' At least, that was what he told the media, the police and anyone who would listen. The truth was that Edward Nigma was alive, but he wasn't well. He hadn't been well for a long time. Edward was honest enough about himself to admit that he'd probably never been what a so-called normal citizen of Gotham would call 'well' but his malaise had only gotten worse. Ever since Dr. Aesop, ever since Selina, Harley, and Ivy had-

"You don't need them, Edward," he rebuked himself. "You don't need anyone. What you need is a new case. Something challenging, something exciting! Something that has nothing to do with cheating spouses or missing pets."

Not that he'd turn them down. Cheating spouses and missing pets paid the bills after all. But what good was having a dazzling intellect when you had nothing to test it against? And even if he had no one and nothing else, Edward had a dazzling intellect that was just begging to be used. With those intrusive thoughts put out of mind, for now, Edward put on his green suit coat, bowler hat and purple tinted glasses, picked up his cane from the hook it hung on by the front door and made his way to his office

It was only six blocks between Edward's apartment and his office. Even taking into account his routine stop at the corner deli for coffee and a copy of that morning's Gotham Gazette, it only took him 20 minutes to reach the building. As he walked up to the front entrance, he saw something out of the ordinary. A large, black car was parked in front of the building. Edward thought he could make out a driver, but the windows were rolled up and tinted, preventing him from getting a detailed look. Edward paused to consider this development, taking a long swig out of his coffee cup. Either he had a big name potential new client or the feds had decided to raid his office. Hoping for the former, Edward made his way up the steps and climbed the flight of stairs that led him to his office.

As he walked down the hallway, he could hear two voices from his office.

"-Isn't he here yet? I do have a schedule to keep." That was a man's voice, older and with a distinct pompous tone. Edward furrowed his brow. He knew that voice, from somewhere. He just couldn't quite pin it down.

"He should be here anytime now. Mr. Nigma usually comes in at around 9:00 am." That was Tracy, Edward's newest secretary. A perky, pretty girl, even if she couldn't keep his files organized half as well as Wanda could. One more thing to hold against the Gotham City Sirens.

When Edward opened the door to his office, he was confronted with the sight of his secretary attempting to placate a balding, slightly overweight older gentleman, wearing a gray suit and wielding a cane of his own. As he entered, the two of them turned to look at him and Edward realized in an instant just who this man was.

"Good Morning Mr. Nigma!" Tracy chirped. "I was just telling this man that you were on your way! Oh! This is-"

"I know who he is, Tracy," Edward said, not unkindly. "Quincy Sharp. I must admit, I never expected to see you here."

Quincy Sharp merely nodded. "Edward. Good to see you again. I trust you're doing well?"

Hardly. And since when were we on a first-name basis? "Well enough, thank you," Edward replied. He tossed the now empty coffee cup into the wastebasket by the door. "So," he said, mustering up as much bravado as he dared. "What brings the warden of Arkham Asylum to my detective agency?"

Sharp cleared his throat. "May we speak in private?" he asked, gesturing to Tracy.

Well, this was promising. Of course. Why don't you go on ahead into my office? I'll meet you there momentarily."

Sharp did as Edward bade him. As he disappeared into the office, Edward turned to Tracy, who had sat back down at her desk.

"Tracy, if anyone calls, be a dear and take a message, will you?"

Tracy nodded. "Yes, Mr. Nigma."

Edward turned to follow Sharp into his office when a thought occurred to him.

"Tracy? If a Selina Kyle calls, tell her I'm not here."

Tracy looked confused but nodded just the same. "Yes, Mr. Nigma."

"Good girl," Edward said, walking into his office and shutting the door behind him.

Sharp was looking at the various news articles framed on the walls. He didn't look at Edward when he walked in instead commenting, "I see you've been keeping busy."

"Well, I do my best," Edward said as he hung his cane up on the coat hook. He crossed the room, placing the newspaper on his desk. He took a seat in the office chair behind his desk and looked quizzically up at Sharp. "Forgive me warden, but I don't think you came here just to pay a visit."

Sharp turned to look at him. "No, of course not. Well, Edward, I'll come right to the point. I'm in need of your assistance."

Edward's interest was piqued immediately. Whatever it was had to be serious, if his former jailer had come to him for help. He opened his desk drawers to pull out a notepad and a ballpoint pen. Once he was ready to write, he gestured to Sharp. "Go on," he said.

"I trust you're aware that I'm running a campaign for mayor?"

Edward wasn't interested in politics. He had never been, but he would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to miss the constant campaign advertising. "You're not asking me to join your staff, are you?" he asked sardonically.

Sharp's face flushed a bit at that. "Certainly not! Er, no offense Edward. No, the reason I came to you is much more serious. For the past two weeks, my campaign office and my temporary office back at the asylum have been receiving anonymous threats."

This just keeps getting better and better. "Death threats?"

"Not exactly," Sharp admitted. "But they've been making rather slanderous claims about how I run the asylum and about my personal character. The latest one demanded that I 'take responsibility' or some nonsense like that." Sharp paused to give Edward an intense look. "I'm running a serious campaign, Edward. I intend to cleanse this city of crime and I will not be deterred by some miserable little punk with too much time on his hands."

Edward was becoming increasingly unnerved by Sharp's tone. "Has the GCPD been made aware of this?" he asked.

"Of course," Sharp huffed. "My campaign manager reached out to the GCPD. He was told that it was probably a prank. Frankly, Edward, I'm very reluctant to trust the GCPD with my own safety, let alone the security of my campaign. I doubt anyone there knows what they're doing. "

That's rich, coming from the man who was warden during the worst massacre in Arkham's history, Edward thought. There was another, more vindictive part, however, that completely agreed with the warden's assessment of the GCPD. "How frequently have you been receiving these letters?"

"At first, it was just one every three days. Now, it's one every day. We've been keeping them in a file at campaign headquarters. We've kept this out of the media, for the time being. The last thing I need is a scandal."

And yet, here you are. Edward placed the notepad back down on his desk and then looked directly at Sharp. "What is it exactly that you'd like from me?"

"I'd like you to investigate these threats. Find out who's been sending them. I'd also like for you to work with us on improving security for the campaign. You'll be well compensated, I assure you."

Edward leaned back in his chair, considering the offer. It was a step up from the cases he'd been working, that was for sure. And the money was promising. There was just one question he needed to be answered.

"Why me?"

Sharp looked at him, confused. "Why?" he repeated.

"You said yourself that you were running a hard anti-crime campaign. Wouldn't the presence of a former criminal on your payroll play against you? Not just any former criminal at that, but the Riddler? Especially with what happened at the asylum last year?"

Sharp looked like he didn't know how to respond to this. In another life, Edward would have been amused with the warden's ignorance. Now, he was quickly becoming exasperated. Finally, Sharp spoke.

"Quite the contrary Edward. You've been reformed for some time now, haven't you? I consider you one of Arkham's greatest success stories. Your presence would only serve to prove to our opposition that our methods work."

I'd sooner have myself recommitted than give you or anyone at that asylum any credit for my reform. Edward's hand clenched involuntarily, nearly crushing his pen. Keep it together Edward, he thought. No sense in alienating the ignoramus with the deep pockets.

Sharp continued, either not noticing Edward's reaction or not caring. "Besides, weren't you still in a coma when that unfortunate incident occurred?"

"I was," Edward admitted. That wasn't a period of time in his life he wanted to talk about, especially with Sharp.

"I think we could help each other immensely Edward. If you were seen to be helping me, it could go a long way towards convincing certain parties of the legitimacy of your reform."

Edward tapped the pen against his chin, deep in thought. Sharp sounded sincere, but Edward's memories of the man at Arkham were unpleasant at best and the more time Edward spent with the man, the more he remembered why. It didn't come as a surprise to him that Sharp had been threatened. The line of people who wanted to take a swing at the pompous, self-aggrandizing coward was probably forming around the block. Two years ago, Edward thought wryly, I'd have been at the front of that line.

Sharp did have one good point, though. Most of the senior staff at the GCPD, Gordon included, treated Edward as if he was a novelty at best and one step away from leaving people in death traps again at worst, despite all the cases he'd solved. To say nothing of what Batman thought. A temporary working relationship with the front-runner for the next mayor of Gotham would go a long way to prove to them that he was serious about reforming. More importantly, it would go a long way to prove that fact to himself.

Besides, Edward thought to himself. You've been wanting to move to a bigger apartment for a while.

"Well, Edward? Is it a deal?"

Edward looked up at Sharp. Well, what did he have to lose? "Deal."

Sharp looked far too pleased with himself. "Excellent! I think we'll make a good team Edward."

Edward got up out of his chair to guide Sharp back towards the waiting room. "You can speak to Tracy regarding the details of the contract. I'd like to see those letters as soon as possible."

"Of course. I have them at my campaign headquarters. Are you free tomorrow evening? We can meet there."

"I'll look at my schedule and get back to you." Edward looked over at Tracy's desk. "Tracy? Could you go over the paperwork with Mr. Sharp?"

Tracy did just that as Edward walked back to his office, feeling better than he had in weeks. This case was just what he needed: a large paycheck, publicity and a distraction from false friends and his own self-doubts. He sat back down at his desk and opened his drawers again, this time, pulling out a laptop. Once the computer was booted up, he began typing out his latest case notes.

CASE FILE #0140. CLIENT: WARDEN QUINCY SHARP. CASE DETAILS AS FOLLOWS...

Once the contract was signed, Quincy Sharp left the office and returned to the parked car in front of the building. He climbed into the right rear passenger seat and gave the order for the driver to return to the asylum. Or what remained of it, after that fiasco with the Joker. Truth be told, he really didn't see the point. Still, appearances needed to be kept.

"Well?"

Sharp looked up at the person sitting on the left passenger seat.

"He agreed to take the case," Sharp answered. "He'll be coming to headquarters tomorrow to begin the investigation."

Dr. Hugo Strange smiled at that. "Excellent."

Sharp wasn't quite convinced. He'd meant what he said when he told Nigma that having him on payroll could be seen as beneficial to them both, but Sharp chafed at the idea of being beholden to a freak like him.

"What's troubling you Quincy?" Dr. Strange asked as if he'd read his thoughts.

Sharp hesitated but answered. "Are you sure this is a good idea Hugo? Nigma may be reformed, but he's still not what I'd call stable."

"It may not be pleasant, having to spend time with him. But I assure you, it is necessary. We need to know just what kind of man he is, without the trappings of the Riddler to prop him up." Dr. Strange looked over at Sharp.

"Besides," he said in a soothing tone. "The voters will be impressed, seeing you with a former rogue in your power."

That thought placated Sharp. When he was still incarcerated, Nigma had always behaved as if his intelligence made him above everyone else, from the guards, to the doctors, to Sharp himself. And now the arrogant son of a bitch was working for him. How things changed.

"Yes, I suppose you're right Hugo. You will keep an eye on him though? Just in case?"

Dr. Strange let out a deep chuckle. "Of course, Quincy. I'm looking forward to it."