Gordon called him into an empty office. The office was 50 feet away, directly on the other side of the main room. All of the officers were staring at him. He had a cane. It's top was shaped like a question mark, although all cane-tops kind of are to begin with. They might think it was an aesthetic prop, but they'd know from a fifty-foot trek. They'd know he couldn't walk right anymore.

Still, it was too interesting to pass up. Edward had to know why Gordon would want to talk to him. Why he'd want his input today. Why he'd let him step near the GCPD in the first place. Luckily, guys like Gordon would just up and tell you all of that with no resistance or tricks. No imagination, these guys.

"Alright Nigma, I'm gonna be blunt. How did you get out of Arkham?"

"Good behavior."

"Don't bullshit me."

"I made a breakthrough. I was declared fit for public life. All of this is on record."

"Who wrote the record?"

"The psychiatrist."

"It wasn't in her handwriting."

"It was typed."

"You know what I mean. A guy with your record doesn't get out that quickly, fit or not."

"What record? Yeah, I committed a lot of crimes, but they were non-violent and ultimately inconsequential."

"For the most part."

For the most part.

"For the most part. For the most part. When you think about it, that phrase makes no sense. For the most part what? For the most part ways? Most part. Most part. What is a part?

"Eddie?"

Wait, did I say that aloud? Keep it together. Thinking about it breaks it apart, but we got to keep it together. Gordon's just stressing me, it's just the moment's memory. Keep it together.

"Yeah?"

"I said, how's Harvey doing in there?"

"Harvey? Okay, I guess. His surgery went well, but they had to take out the eye. As it turns out, having an eyelid is crucially important."

"I meant, how is he doing mentally?"

Why did he care so much about Harvey? He was good friends with him back in the day. But after what Harvey did, why…

"Sorry, I have to ask. Why are you allowing me to work with the GCPD? Why would you ever hire me? This isn't exactly like you."

"It is like me, Eddie. I do believe in rehabilitation. I do want to believe that the staff inside of Arkham, who are some of the most educated and well-respected in the world, can change a person. Bring them back to good."

"So you're paying me for me?"

"Do you know why people find you annoying, Eddie? It's because you know the facts but will never say them out loud. I hope you got out of Arkham for the right reason. I pray that such a thing is possible. But one slip up from you and I don't care how powerful the forces are that I have to fight, I will lock you up for good. Do you understand?"

"You know what, Gordon? You should be thanking me for not saying the facts out loud. If I did, You would be ashamed of yourself for hearing them. You are different from the most. For the most part ways."

Edward jumped on the subway with Gordon swimming in his head. Harvey Dent. He's doing all of this for Harvey Dent. Harvey was a goner. They had to pump him full of drugs in order to give him life-saving facial surgery. Not drugs to get him through surgery. Drugs to get him on the table. Even after, he refused a glass eye, refused to wear an eye patch. Left the socket exposed, slowly rerotting half of his face. But Gordon won't let himself see that half. Gordon knows that Gotham City needs men like the old Harvey Dent. He's running out of options. The Bat will die soon. We all know it. You can't go around in a costume fighting gun-wielding maniacs forever. He's going to take an unseen bullet at some point, and that will be one less of a few men that could change things in this city. Gordon knows this, and he's getting older and desperate, so he has an illogical hope for lost souls. As for the Bat, I just hope I get to go to the funeral. I won't even gloat. I'm genuinely going to miss the sadistic bastard. He gave me something to do.

Edward had thinking about all of this for a while now, and he didn't notice his surroundings when he got on the subway. That's always been a problem for me. To inside of my own head. He was grabbed by two lunkheads in tuxedos. Not opera types, he thought, so a bad sign.

Placed across from him, Edward wanted to laugh. He wouldn't dare, of course, but it was funny. All the passengers on the car were ushered to a corner so a guy in a bowler and a guy in a top hat could have a discussion in private.

"The Riddler!"

"The Penguin!"

"Congrats on getting out of Arkham so early!"

"Congrats on avoiding Blackgate! Judge Weffner, I presume?"

"The very same. How are you doing?"

"I'm extremely same. You?"

"Eh, worried. I'm worried, Eddie."

"Yeah. I get it. But go on."

"The cops, Eddie. Why?"

"You've been paying off cops for years. I'm getting paid by cops. Which makes more sense?"

"I'm paid by nobody, know why?"

"I bet I can guess exactly how you were going to respond."

"How much?"

"A thousand."

"Deal."

"If you're paid, you're bought."

"I gave you that one."

"When do I get my thousand, Cobblepot?"

"Not when. If."

"If do I get my thousand, Cobblepot?"

"If you get off this subway car alive."

"What do you want?"

"Eh, I'm disappointed in you, Eddie. You were one of the originals. You helped set the standard for crime in this city. Let me tell you a story."

"You're allowed."

"I am short. I am fat. I have been short and fat for my entire life. I knew it. More importantly, my parents knew it. I got caught up in the criminal element, but I wasn't much use. Intelligence can be too easily disregarded in our world. But I was making a living. I wasn't satisfied, but I was surviving. And then a winged creature showed up. The papers loved him. Nobody knew if he was real or a hoax. Guys I knew described him as a flurry of black, peppering them with pain and fear. I have to admit I was scared. Scared to do my business. Fearing the flurry of black. But then the freaks came. The freaks who loved the flurry. They loved the idea of such a creature, a creature like them that they could battle. Freaks like the Joker. Freaks like the Catwoman. Freaks like you. You. You were an inspiration. Can I tell you the truth, Riddler?"

"You can."

"I hate tuxedos. I hate top hats. I hate umbrellas. I'm not even that fond of birds. You know why nobody ever killed Al Capone?"

"Well, he had the money, the muscle and the influence."

"Look at the guy to your left. He's about 6'5, 240 pounds. Holding a semi-automatic. Loaded. Hey, what's your name?"

"John Roberts, sir."

"John Roberts, I am currently holding 400 thousand dollars on my person. If you fling your gun around for five to ten seconds with your finger pressed on the trigger, you would kill everyone on this car and, due to my planning, be able to escape with my and everyone else's money, which will be more than you will make for the next twenty years. Are you going to do that?"

"No sir."

"But you agree that you could?"

"Yes sir."

"But you won't."

"I won't, sir."

"Why not?"

"I…"

"Do you know why no one ever killed Al Capone, Edward?"

"No. Why?"

"Because he was Scarface. He was Scarface. I am the Penguin. You were the Riddler. Never forget who you were."

"I know who I was. I was a joke."

"You were a god. But, I digress. I hear you've become a private detective."

"Yes."

"Well, I may be in need of one. Do you have a card?"

"Um, yeah, here."

….

"You don't have to check it so close, Ozzie. It's just a business card. Name. Address. Email. Phone. No tricks."

"Yeah, well if that's true, which it probably isn't…"

"It is."

"Edward, remember what you'll be remembered for. You are THE Riddler. You are a THE. There's not that many of us. This is my stop. I will see you soon."