Chapter 2
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John and his father idly watched the well-dressed family leave their limo as their butler looked over the damage done. A taxi driver was apologising repeatedly, but the father of the family waved him off with a sympathetic smile, calming the driver down with the assurance that accidents happen all the time. John cast a worried glance at his father, as he heard his mother died in a car accident, but John's dad didn't show any proofs of emotional pain, simply a longing. John looked back at the family, admiring their expensive clothing that could pay for John and his father's meals for a few days. He wasn't jealous of their wealth, no, but he did feel a bit of the same longing his father reflected when John watched the rich dad pick up his son as the mother assured the boy the fender bender wasn't a big deal. "Alfred saw it coming before we did, so the damage to the limo is minimal," the mother smiled, rubbing her son's back comfortingly. "Once again," the taxi driver bid goodbye, "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne." Accepting the apology, the wealthy father and mother then turned to a nearby restaurant to grab a bite to eat while they waited for the police to come, and John and the boy's eyes met. John could see the slight fear in the boy's eyes, and he suddenly felt a responsibility to provide comfort in some way. Was this the boy's first car crash experience? John had never been in one, but he had worn the same surprised, scared look when John's father first taught him how to bike. Slowly, John raised a hand and waved, and the boy looked at him for a moment before raising his own hand and waving back.
The family disappeared into the restaurant, the boy's parents and John's father oblivious to the wordless exchange between the two children, and John's dad finally pulled John away from the crash site to head home. Seeing such wealth in a family must have triggered something, because John's dad murmured, "When I win a lot of big gambles, I'm going to buy the circus your mom and I worked at." John said nothing. He didn't particularly care for if they ever went back to the circus or not, he just wished his father would stop thinking about mom. It seemed ever since his mother's death, John and his father's lives fell into what could hardly be considered living anymore, and all John knew was the life after his mother's death. "Did mom even care for the circus?" The question left John's lips before he realised what he had done, but his father didn't seem to react much to it; his posture was already weighed down with a sadness even John's question couldn't add to. "I don't know," John's father confessed. "She had a strong sense of justice, though. Whenever criminals tried buying the circus," John's father turned to his son, a faint smile on his lips, "your mother was the first to stand up to them."
XxXx
Lucius Fox gazed across from his desk at his guest whose insistence in meeting Lucius led to the building's security nearly throwing the guest out before Lucius stepped in. According to the lady at the front desk, Lucius and a John Blake were having a sudden meeting in order to discuss potential business between Wayne Enterprises and Saul's Autocare. In reality, John had come for technological help regarding his night activities. In all honesty, the ex-cop didn't think he could replicate the same rough voice his predecessor used to disguise his true voice, nor could he keep anything like that up without worrying if those he was talking to could understand him. Lucius's eyes crinkled at that, and he pressed a series of somethings on his desk before the bookshelf to the side moved, revealing an empty metal room. John followed the CEO inside, confused as to why but trusting enough to join the man in, when the bookshelf closed them in and John felt his sense of gravity shift. He discovered they were standing in an elevator whose only other level it opened to was an underground storage room of a sorts filled with gear, technology, and other devices John couldn't recognise.
"I had to modify that elevator and make it go vertical and horizontal since I moved the basement containing my inventions elsewhere after the Reckoning," Lucius informed as they stepped into the temperature-controlled air with an echoed click of their shoes on the concrete. "I have several other hiding places for my inventions, just in case any of them are discovered." Lucius led John to a portion of the basement dedicated to computers, and John watched as the CEO played around with the keyboard before what looked like a CD tray slid out of a monitor. Lucius picked up a thin box of metallic strips from the tray. "These strips alter sound by responding to certain vibrations," Lucius explained as he handed it to John. "You'll have to place one on your throat if you want it to change your voice." The ex-cop tested one, discovering the strip was bendy, and he held it against his throat. "Like this?" he asked, and his voice came out in the low tone that he used when he took down the bar robbers several days ago without John even having to try. Lucius nodded. "I guess I'll have it implanted in the turtleneck-like part of my suit," John said as he returned the strip with its duplicates in the thin case.
Something caught his eye. "What's that?" John asked. Lucius followed his line of sight. "That is a fire-resistant material, insulated against electricity, and is made of triple-weaved Kevlar and light-sensitive material, so it will darken according to the amount of light hitting it." They approached the material draped over a mannequin like a poncho. John felt the material, surprised at its flexability. "This was originally developed for night raids. Unfortunately, the military decided the costly mass-production of the material wasn't worth it," the CEO explained. "From the look in your eyes, though, I know the price won't matter to you." John looked at Lucius, who was smiling. "How much?" John asked, and Lucius waved him away, shaking his head. "If Bruce trusted you, I trust you," he stated. John took out a hefty wad of bills and handed them over anyway, and Lucius gave him a look as he was forced to accept it, an exasperated sigh leaving the CEO's lips as he did so. "Anything else?" Lucius asked, gesturing around the room. John felt the material a little more. "Do you have paint that is also light-sensitive?"
XxXx
"Blake, weren't these guys the two customers from the other day?" John looked up from the car he was working on and headed over to where some mechanics gathered around a newspaper, Saul among them. John recognised the two pictures of the murder victims from the article, and he nodded, confirming that the two fathers were the ones killed. "It's sad such a thing had to happen," he commented, which brought out sounds of agreement from his fellow workers. "This lady reporter's all over the story," Saul stated, turning the newspaper so that it faced John properly. "A little too much, if you ask me." At John's confused expression, another mechanic explained. "She's critisizing this 'Riddler'–first for taking fathers from two families, and then for using trashy riddles. The reporter initially wrote harshly about the crime committed, but later on in the article, she's really being mean about the killer." Saul huffed at that. "Maybe the riddle was bad, so what? She doesn't have to fill her entire article with heavy criticism. Nobody wants a page of only negative words. It brings you down, you know?"
John then suddenly spotted a familiar face passing by the autocare, and he recognised the person as one of the circus workers. Had the circus relocated again? It was still daytime, though, so they wouldn't be able to move the drug crates without at least one person in the neighborhood noticing and alerting the police. John quickly finished his shift and jumped onto his motorcycle to head down the direction he saw the circus worker go, more cautious this time and making sure no one was following him. At the circus site, John parked and hid his bike before spotting the circus worker and shadowing him. The worker led John to the main tent, where John met Edward Skeevers for the job interview, only this time someone else awaited. Several other circus workers with white silk handkerchiefs–members of the Zucco Family–had gathered there as well, and John quickly hid in an empty tent and pulled the flaps apart a bit so that he could watch the Zucco members without being seen.
Someone stood at the centre of the circus workers' attention, but the person was too short for John to be able to see the individual past the wall of workers blocking John's view. The apparent leader spoke. "What do you mean you can't find Nigma?" The carnival workers shifted. "We searched everywhere, Mister Zucco. Edward has simply vanished," one explained. The worker who spoke was suddenly pulled down by the collar to kneel and speak at eye-level with whom John discovered was Tony Zucco, but John had yet been able to see him, as Tony was apparently short. "If anyone starts digging deeper into Nigma's murder, they're going to first find out about our circus, and then our drug business," Tony hissed. Another circus worker spoke up. "Sir, the riddles Edward used weren't very impressive as the lady reporter pointed out," the worker held up the newspaper containing the article, "so no one's going to guess that the tricky riddle man in our circus is the same murderer who used corny riddles." "The two men Nigma killed only had one connection: they visited our circus days before dying," Tony pointed out. "Find Nigma and kill him, before any of this gets out of hand." The workers all nodded and turned to leave the tent, and John quickly left his hiding place and returned to his bike before any of them spotted him.
XxXx
Gordon and Hayes stood by each other, the former holding another paper with a riddle on it. "What's looser than a thread, a fish, and flying ribbons?" Gordon mumbled to himself as he reread the paper, and Hayes sighed. "Didn't we get this green paint tested by Forensics?" he asked as he pointed at the green question mark painted on the paper. Gordon nodded. "Unfortunately, you can buy this stuff anywhere; the paint is too common." A familiar group entered the police station, and Hayes rubbed his eyes at the inevitable. "The FBI are here," he informed, and Gordon looked around, before spotting someone he knew trustworthy. While Hayes fulfilled his position as Deputy Commissioner well, Hayes didn't quite connect with officers and other people as well as Lieutenant Ross did, as proven when a majority of Gotham's police force was trapped underground and Ross kept their morale together and led them out when Batman and John provided an exit. Also, while the FBI could restrict some of Gordon and Hayes's actions, they couldn't order around lower officers and prevent them from disobeying their Commissioner and Deputy Commissioner's orders. Ross was the perfect witty officer Gordon needed.
"Ross," he called, and the Lieutenant came. "Sir?" Gordon showed him the riddle. "Memorise it, and then investigate with some outside help," he ordered, before glancing at the FBI approaching. "Some things we can't do without vigilante aid," Gordon finished, just low enough to escape the FBI's hearing. Ross quickly memorised the riddle before Agent Reid stepped up. "Another riddle?" he asked, and Ross casually swept past the FBI, unnoticed as he was just a lowly officer. Hayes nodded, his face not giving away what Gordon had done. Agent Reid took the riddle and read it once, before looking up. "The GCPD was keeping material from us?" It was more of a statement than a question. Gordon cleared his throat. "We were waiting for you to appear," Gordon explained, but from the way his and Hayes's silently defiant expressions didn't match what Gordon said, everyone present knew the Commissioner had made up an excuse. Agent Reid's lips thinned, but he did nothing to correct what Gordon said. "Don't do it again," he instead warned, and an agent behind Reid stepped up and took the riddle from Gordon's hands. As the FBI agents left, Hayes growled under his breath. "I'm going to rip that shiny identification card from his belt and shove it up his fancy F-Be-hInd." Gordon choked on air at that, and he patted Hayes's shoulder. "It's no good insulting higher officials," he berated, but the quirk of his lips gave away his lack of total seriousness, "and I'm afraid there's already something up there that has made him stiff." Hayes turned to look at Gordon, taken aback and slightly relieved at the shared irritation. Several police officers had frozen in the middle of their tasks, equally surprised at what had happened, and Hayes looked at them. "Back to work," he ordered, and everyone complied, barely hidden smiles on their lips in amusement.
XxXx
Ross stared at the white tombstones a little longer, sad he didn't get to know all the names of the police officers who had been trapped underground with him during the Reckoning. His grandmother back in China had never hesitated to correct Ross's thoughts when he felt attached over something already done and passed, so it was not regret that the Lieutenant felt as he finally turned away from the tombstones and headed to the nearby church, but simply a sadness that gave him strength to do better next time. Hopefully, Ross mused, there wouldn't be a next time.
At the small but beautiful church situated near the graveyard, Ross came up to the steps leading to a cross hanging on the wall, where stained glass windows bathed the room in coloured light on either side of the cross. Above, a circular, stained glass window created a pool of light around Ross. A recent storm had broken some parts of the windows, creating holes where natural sunlight beamed in, but even the storm could not taken away the church's beauty. The circular window had unfortunately lost a lot of its stained glass, and Ross stood in its mostly yellow light for a moment with eyes closed, simply basking in the warmth. He was alone in the church, but the isolated peace felt kind of nice. Something fluttered, causing the light to flicker, and Ross opened his eyes, only to see a blackbird perched in the circular window, pecking at the stained glass remains. Ross watched it for a while, before he sighed. What was he doing here? Hadn't Commissioner Gordon sent him to find Nightwing? Maybe Ross's feet recognised he needed a momentary break and brought him to the church, but lamenting over the past solved nothing. Ross turned around to leave, only to start at the dark figure behind him, as if having stood there the entire time.
"Nightwing," Ross identified, and the vigilante nodded. Remembering his purpose, Ross quoted the riddle he had memorised back in the police station. Nightwing didn't give much of a reaction to the riddle, if nothing at all, and Ross wondered for a moment if the other had even heard him, when Nightwing threw a newspaper at Ross's feet. The newspaper was opened to a specific article, and Ross bent down to pick it up, recognising the negative write up about the "Riddler" by an equally negative female reporter. Putting the pieces together, Ross realised the answer to the riddle. "A woman's tongue is looser than a thread, a fish, and flying ribbons," he stated aloud, looking up to meet Nightwing's eyes. "The Riddler no doubt got offended by what this woman had written," Ross said. Already planning ahead, the vigilante spoke. "I'll get to the reporter before the Riddler does. In the meantime, I need you to research behind the Riddler; figure out his background, motives, and predict his actions from there." Ross agreed and turned away to bask in the light a little more, before remembering the FBI agents holding a degree of control over the GCPD that none of the police officers appreciated. "I may not be able to be much help; the higher ups in government finally decided they shouldn't leave Gotham be and have sent FBI to take a lot of what used to be the police's job," he shared. Nightwing looked at him. "You'll do fine."
Ross blinked. Was that meant as an act of support, or had Nightwing really spoken as if he knew Ross well? For the first time, Ross wondered who was behind the mask. Shaking away his straying thoughts to focus on the moment, he recalled what he knew of the Riddler. "If I'm going to research on this Riddler, where should I start? Is he another Joker? A psychotic?" Nightwing shook his head. "Not quite. Everyone has their own way of hiding anger." The vigilante paused, as if having remembered something, before the moment passed. "Pull up background information on an Edward Nigma and bring me what you got," he finished, and Ross nodded. Was this Edward Nigma the Riddler, then? A flutter behind Ross broke his train of thought, and he suddenly became aware of a shadow dancing in the circle of light for a moment. Ross turned around, startled at the movement and sound that reminded him he was still in the church. A brown and white sparrow had joined the blackbird at the window, and they hopped around on the window edge as the sparrow tweeted and the blackbird sang. The brown and white bird reminded Ross of the sparrows he used to watch as a boy back in China, and he marvelled how the two birds, while different in several ways, were still able to communicate. Not wanting to be rude, Ross turned back to Nightwing, but the hero had vanished. Ross looked down at the newspaper in his hands, just now taking in what he had done and the hurdles that would come working with a vigilante. An excited smile lifted Ross's lips before he could stop himself.
XxXx
Nightwing swore under his breath when he found the female reporter convulsing on her kitchen floor, and he quickly swept the area to find it clear before he knelt down and checked the woman's pulse, neck, and the inside of her mouth. He glanced at the knocked down containers and chairs, and the spray painted green question mark on the woman's face, before identifying that the Riddler had caught the reporter by surprise and forced a drug down her throat, where she was left to die and be found by the police. Nightwing had been careful not to disturb anything so as to leave the crime scene as it was when he first saw it for the police to investigate, but he knew without having to check that the Riddler hadn't left fingerprints. If the criminal wore anything like what Nightwing saw when he accidentally met Nigma in the circus, the Riddler had worn gloves. If Nightwing's guess was right, however, then Edward Nigma was the Riddler, so he didn't need to go through the extensive amount of investigation usually tasked to a police officer when assigned to help solve a crime such as this. The wail of sirens came to Nightwing's attention, and he picked up the woman and headed out the door. Ignoring the officers and FBI agents, Nightwing went straight to the paramedics and informed the medics of his observations on the reporter's health, before turning to leave, knowing he left the woman in the best hands he could.
Agent Reid, meanwhile, struggled past the crowd of policemen to where he saw a black blur that could only be Nightwing, but by the time he got to the paramedics, the vigilante was gone. His agents caught up with their leader, but Agent Reid shook his head, wordlessly telling them they just missed Nightwing. Turning back to the Lieutenant who had delayed their arrival to the crime scene, Agent Reid stopped Ross's attempt to slip away to get back to station. "Hindering government officials' progress to a location can come with big consequences, Lieutenant Ross," he warned. The witty officer shrugged. "Perhaps," he agreed, "but I wasn't aware Commissioner Gordon was sending officers to the reporter's home until you shoved me out of the way," then, as if on a sidenote, "Sir." There was something in Gotham's water, Agent Reid humorously thought; all of the Gotham police officers he had met so far had a streak of confidence and loyalty to their fellow officers and people that Reid often saw lacking in FBI's own agents. A spark of admiration lit within him, but Reid didn't allow it to show on his face, or else this sharp-witted Lieutenant was going to think he scored a point against Reid.
"You told the Commissioner of where to send officers," Agent Reid stated, but Ross did nothing to confirm it despite the fact he held a specific article in his hands. Where had he gotten the newspaper from, anyway? Last Reid saw, Ross didn't have it when he left the station. Yes, Agent Reid noticed; there's not much that escapes him, even a stealthy attempt by Gordon to get Nightwing's help through Ross. Much to Reid's dismay, however, the one thing that did escape him was the vigilante his original, secret mission his superiors had sent Reid and his team to do was centred around. Agent Reid couldn't afford Gotham's police force to discover the real reason behind the FBI presence in the city, so Reid hadn't done what would have made completing the mission faster and easier as it would have definitely gotten the attention of the locals and the police right away. Agent Reid was determined to go through the mission with as little opposition as possible, but even he knew that the very target, Nightwing, would catch on at one point. The question was how the vigilante would react.
Agent Reid glanced at his agents, all loyal to one another; indeed, Agent Reid's team gained the title of most close-knit unit of all FBI teams. Batman appeared to have been sympathetic to an end, but Agent Reid knew next to nothing about Nightwing. Would the vigilante hurt Reid's men when he discovered the FBI's true mission? Reid sighed, rubbing his face. "Vigilantes have always been loose cannons with anything from minimal to troublesome impact," they said. "The type popping up in Gotham has to be stopped; the city's police force has even united with the vigilantes! This is like nothing we've seen before. You know what this means, Agent Reid?" Stop Nightwing. "Batman has already died; we've already investigated and confirmed that. Nightwing's profile is practically blank, however, and while this vigilante may respect his predecessor's purpose, it does not mean he will respond to governmental actions the same way." Kill, if necessary. "We trust you and your team will handle this well, and we can even provide back up if needed, but you know the consequences if you fail the mission." Just stop make sure to Nightwing. At any cost. As Reid watched the paramedics stabilize the drugged reporter, however, he wondered. Would Gotham really benefit if they lost their hero?
XxXx
The last of Coleman Reese's muffled gasps echoed throughout his house, and the Riddler released the man's neck from his grasp and got up. The female reporter's murder, while satisfying, was but a distraction to make sure this murder wouldn't be noticed until later on. "Who knew?" the Riddler muttered to himself as he replaced his green fedora back on his head. Locating his cane, which he used to beat up Coleman in the beginning before strangling with his bare hands, the Riddler picked it up from the ground and strolled on his way out of Coleman's house, satisfied with what he had learned. "Who knew the Batman was Bruce Wayne?" he hummed to himself. If the Riddler killed anyone else who knew the Batman's real identity, then only the Riddler would know the big secret. He would be a step closer to solving the ultimate riddle, the question of life. A giggle spilled forth from his lips, and he didn't bother to stop it in childish glee.
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A/N: Has anyone noticed that I hinted that the family in John's memory at the beginning of this chapter was the Wayne family? The boy was Bruce, whom John waved to! ;D Reviews will be appreciated.