Perspective 4: Edward Nygma

Edward Nygma, or Riddler as he liked to go by when doing business, giggled madly as he watched Gotham's one and only Batman struggle through his new, amazing masterpiece. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls", he intoned in a giddy tone, spinning around to face his imaginary audience. "It is with the utmost pleasure and pride that I present you Enigma Enterprises' latest puzzle game! Prepare for a journey in a virtual reality that will have you feeling dizzy, a challenge that will test your intelligence – or lack thereof – to the extreme. I here introduce you to… the Escape Room!"

Thousands of hands suddenly appeared at his command, literally floating in the air, and started clapping, while an invisible audience cheered and whistled. Riddler bowed, gallantly removing the green bowler hat gracing his head and then raising his question mark cane as a show of thanks. "Thank you, thank you, you are too kind", he kept repeating, basking in the warm feeling of admiration. He broke his concentration with a sigh and the hands disappeared. With a sweep of his hand, a window appeared and he studied with a smug smile Batman's progresses in the hermetically locked room: 101 puzzles to be solved to find the key that opened the lock of the only door leading to freedom. Given time: 2 hours. Price of failure: Bruce Wayne's life. He spied the timer on the far bottom of the screen: only 1 hour left and the smart, smart bat was halfway there, but losing ground as the puzzles increased their difficulty.

"Your protector is currently trying to solve Enigma #55", he conversationally informed the apparently empty room. A muffed noise could be heard, if one strained their ears, and Riddler snapped his fingers with a low chuckle; what had been cunningly disguised as a 10 sides Kubrick cube suddenly crumbled and Bruce Wayne appeared, cursing as the small squares making up the structure rained on his head like confetti. "Ooops", Nygma gasped, sounding so forced it came out as truthful, "my bad". He approached the chair his prisoner was bound upon and raised his chin with the question mark end of his cane – he abhorred personal contact, especially with the empty-headed masses. "Are you alright?", he enquired sweetly. "I hope those cubes did not hit you too hard. Still, there is not much of a brain to damage inside that pretty head, is there?" Wayne glared at him, but said nothing; a bright choice, in Edward's humble opinion, as being stuck in virtual reality and antagonizing its god would be pretty stupid indeed.

"So, what do you think about my genius invention, Bruce Wayne?", he asked, turning back to the screen still floating behind him. Batman was now struggling with Enigma #58. Definitely losing ground, if he continued in such a fashion he was not going to make it. "I don't know", the billionaire commented, managing to sound more irritated than scared. "I have yet to understand what this invention even is. All I know, is that I was walking to my car after leaving my office, when someone hit me on the head. When I woke up, I was tied to a chair and spent what seemed like days inside a box made up of coloured squares, with only your muffled voice to keep me company. So, I hope you will pardon me for not keeping up with current events..."

Edward Nygma laughed at the sassy reply, admiring just how collected the man was in face of danger. Not that he knew yet, of course. Time to… enlighten him. At a snap of his finger, Bruce was engulfed by a limelight and groaned, probably temporarily blinded by the brightness immediately following his sojourn in a darkened box. "You, Bruce Wayne, are the star of this game!", Riddler informed him smugly.

Bruce shook his head, tentatively opening his eyes:"Where am I?"

Nygma's smirk grew bigger as he gestured to the empty infinity around him. "You are in my personal virtual reality, which I lovingly dubbed the Brain Zone. While your body is actually back in your office, as I have no use for it and it would just occupy space uselessly, I have kidnapped your mind thanks to my virtual reality visors. I then created a funny little game for Batman to test his intellectual ability against - that is, the Escape Room. I have hidden 101 puzzles inside that virtual room, each linked to the prior one. If he solves all of them correctly within 2 hours, he gets the key that opens the lock to exit the room and can come save you. If he does not…"

There was a gleeful pause as Riddler drank in the anxiety on his victim's face. "If he does not, I will detach your brain from your body and your conscience can enjoy being the guest of my virtual reality forever". Bruce's eyes widened and found the screen, where red numbers were still dancing madly. Edward also contemplated the timer with a smirk: "Tsk, tsk, Enigma #60 and he only has 40 minutes left. Dear me, this is going to be close, is it not? Truth be told, I doubt he will make it, the puzzles grow a bit harder to solve towards the end… Well, look on the bright side, you will spend eternity in the space created by the smartest person on Earth, no risk of growing bored!"br /Wayne's eyes were still glued to the timer and to Batman's pacing figure as the hero tried to figure out just how many pieces he needed to remove from the drawing on the ground in order to obtain the drawing indicated in the previous clue. Bruce shuddered and then pointedly turned away, probably to keep himself from panicking.

"Why…", he started to say.

Are you doing this? Are you so sick? Am I here, I did nothing to you? Don't you cut me a deal, I can pay you?

Edward counted all the possible ways Wayne could end that sentence, curious to see which one it would be.

"Why are you not marketing this?"

Riddler almost jumped: that was not at all what he was expecting. "I beg your pardon?", he countered, buying himself time to design an appropriate reaction.

"Why are you not marketing this?", Bruce repeated, sounding even more curious. "This is a brilliant idea; the technology is amazing and the game as you designed it could earn you millions. You obviously have the funds to start your company, if you have the money to construct such a thing, so why are you not doing it?"

Nygma bristled at the suggestion. "I am not doing this for money, I am doing this to prove that only I am intelligent and capable enough to beat the Batman!"

Bruce digested the information. "I see. But are you going to market it once you have beaten him and killed me?"

Riddler felt himself growing progressively irritated. "No, I am not, I am going to tear it apart so that no one can ever come close to remake it!"

Wayne arched an eyebrow at that: "Why?"

"Because I do not want anyone replicating my genius", Riddler enunciated slowly, to ensure the message penetrated the billionaire's vapid brain.

Bruce observed him for a couple of seconds, before asking in an even slower tone: "So you would prefer to be known as the guy who mysteriously beat the Batman somehow, probably not even real anyway, instead of the man who invented the most sophisticated game of his time, made a fortune out of it and paved the way to a whole new generation of gaming?"

Edward hesitated. When you put it like that… Still, he was the smartest person alive, he did not need to explain himself to some idiotic billionaire who inherited his fortune from daddy dearest. "That is correct", he announced

Wayne stared at him some more and finally nodded. "Okay", he concluded and went back to check the timer.

Riddler, in the meantime, was fuming. "Okay? Okay? That's all you can say?!", he growled, planting himself before the irritating man. Bruce shrugged, though it looked a bit ridiculous seeing as how he was bound to the chair. "I am not going to lie, I am extremely curious. You are more than likely the last conversation partner I will ever have and you are a masked supervillain with a genius IQ. You could have probably been anything you wanted, yet you decided to turn yourself to crime and created a virtual reality with the sole objective of beating Batman and killing me. I am dying to know the story, but I am not suicidal enough to antagonize what passes for a god in this virtual reality. So, if you do not wish to talk about it, I figured it'd be best I shut up…"

"Who said I do not wish to talk about it?", the villain blurted out angrily, before being floored by Bruce's hopeful eyes finding his, hidden behind the violet mask.

"You do?", he asked quietly and Edward pondered the situation. He held all the winning cards, Bruce Wayne was soon going to be a non-person in a non-place and this was his chance to be able to pretend he was not monologuing to himself for once. He summoned a table with an already steaming cappuccino on it and took a sit on a chair that obligingly appeared as soon as he started to sit down. "So", he murmured teasingly, taking a sip and finding the drink done exactly as he liked it, "just how interested are you?"

There was a flash of something in Wayne's eyes, gone too fast to be properly identified, but then the man leaned forward. "Very, very interested", he replied in the same tone and Edward felt like laughing, because did he really think he was being seductive or something?

"Well then, I figure we should start from the beginning…"

He was forced to admit that Bruce Wayne conducted himself impeccably during his speech. He did not look put out when Edward started from the very beginning (his father…), listened in silence as he described the abuse he had to endure, only his disgusted face betraying what he felt, and paid attention from start to finish as he described his teenage years and his desire for revenge. However, when he started his account of his former employer firing him and his subsequent decision to turn to crime to reap his revenge, Bruce started to show signs of restlessness. Edward paused, just to give him a few seconds to regroup, but Wayne apparently took that as a sign that he could voice his opinion.

"Why did you do that?", he wondered mystified. "Your old boss was cruel and very, very stupid, but why do him a favour and ruin your own life in the process? You admitted you had resources put aside in case something like that happened, which is what allowed you to become a successful supervillain in less than a year, but why become one at all? Why not invest what you had in creating your own brand? The way that idiot guided the company, you could have easily taken it over in the same amount of time it took you to cook up your revenge. Wouldn't that have been a better, sweeter way to…"

A piece of fabric suddenly appeared and coiled tightly around his mouth, cutting him off mid-speech. Riddler watched him struggle impassively, lamenting for the first time that his mask prevented others from seeing his eyes; he wanted Bruce Wayne to fully appreciate the amount of anger his ignorant comments caused. When the billionaire finally stopped struggling and slumped back in his bindings, he pointed his cane at him, resting it right against his forehead. "You know, Bruce Wayne, you are a pretty good listener. You are attentive and use the right amount of expression-changing to keep a monologue going. Why ruin a good thing by opening your mouth? The opinions of an empty-headed pretty boy are worthless to the highest intelligence, the only thing they can do is-"
With snake-like rapidity, he whacked Bruce's head with his cane once.

"Making".

Twice.

"Them".

Thrice.

"Angry".

He gently rested the tip of his cane back on Wayne's forehead, a far part of his mind wondering what'd it be like if he kept pushing, pushing and pushing while keeping his head in place. Something gory, no doubt. The Brain Zone was normally no place for brainless brutality, but the Brain Zone was going to be gone forever in a few minutes and none would be the wiser. He could make an experiment out of it, measure what kind of strength it took. He absent-mindedly licked his lips as he increased the pressure and Bruce winced, trying to wriggle away. He grinned widely at him, mind locked on solving that new puzzle, and the table disappeared, along with the half-drunk cappuccino. "I know this may sound a bit redundant, considering the circumstances", he mentioned casually, locking the other man's head in place with a thought, "but next time, just keep to your own little corner and do not open your loud mouth".

"Funny", a gruff voice came from behind him, "I was about to suggest you do the very same thing…"

Riddler spun around and found himself face to face with the Batman or, rather, his fist. He was suddenly thrown to the ground with a hurting jaw, hat flung across the room and cane rolling away from him. He glared at the masked Crusader, mentally searching for an appropriate creature he could summon to do away with him. Batman took him by the lapels of his jacket and hoisted him in the air, the barbarian, and had the gall to growl at him.

"Release us, now!"

Riddler matched that with a roar of his own: "I will not! There is no way you could have finished the game in time, not at the rate you were going, so there is only one possible explanation! You-", he took in a gulp of air and shouted the worst insult known to mankind, "you cheater! How did you get out, huh? Did you blast your way through the door or did you multiply like last time and took my beautiful room apart? No, don't tell me, you probably-"

A key was shoved in his face and Edward fell silent. It was definitely the key that opened the door and, as per his programming, could only be obtained if all 101 puzzles were solved. That meant that Batman must have made it. He reeled back. "But not in time!", he screamed. "There is no way you could have done that in time. You were only at Enigma #60 and there were only 40 minutes left. You did not finish it in time!"

Batman fixed his white eyes on him, so similar to Riddler's, and asked with a vaguely amused tone: "How do you know?"

Nygma's gaze immediately went to the timer; the numbers had stopped dancing and were resting on zero… but, he realised with mounting desperation, he had no way of knowing if that happened before or after Batman came into the room and punched him. How long had he been observing him? When did he finish the game? He did not know, why did he not know? He was distracted, but why was he distracted when… He turned his head and his eyes found Bruce Wayne. The man, still bound and gagged with a bruise now blooming on the centre of his forehead, stared back at him; there was once again a flash of something in his eyes but, again, it was gone way too soon to be analysed. "The position of the table", he murmured, but the franticness from before had left space to a chilling calm. "I placed Wayne right in front of the timer, so he could see his life's expectancy reducing by the minute, but when sitting down I unwittingly gave my back to it. I was talking and I forgot to check it. For how long was I talking, for how-"

It was impossible to know, he realised with defeat. He was so confident in his victory and his famous attentiveness and precision that he did not even record the game or enable an additional measuring device other than the timer. He did not even programme the timer to chime when the time was up. He was just supposed to watch and carry out the execution, but got distracted. He slumped in Batman's grasp, slacked-jaw, still gazing at Bruce Wayne. "You cheated me", he told him, sounding as dazed as he felt. The Dark Knight laughed at that, way too pleased with the course of events for Edward's liking. "No, I'd say he outsmarted you", he casually mentioned and Riddler shut his eyes against that reality.

Batman let him fall to the ground and Nygma painfully picked himself up, trying to locate his bowler hat and cane to start to put himself back together. "Well?", the rodent prompted him, "are you going to keep your word now?"

Riddler paused; he did not want to, he really did not want to, but what choice did he have? Batman probably cheated, but there was no way to know for sure. The only other option open to him was being the cheater himself and that was not a possibility worth considering. Bruce Wayne's binds fell away and the man gasped, gulping in apparently much-needed air. He massaged his forehead with a wince and Edward found himself venomously hoping that the bruise kept tormenting him for a long time.

"Now send us back to reality!", Batman barked.

Riddler snapped his fingers and the virtual world started to crumble and dissolve, the simulation coming to a halt as reality regained solidity. Bruce Wayne took a step towards him and opened his mouth, as if to speak; Edward beat him to it, voice turning into a low growl: "You know, Mr Wayne, I have given your suggestion some thought and I believe you are right, I should definitely market this invention of mine. I want everyone to be able to experience the wonders of my Brain Zone!" As the space around them faded to white, there was a rip into the fabric of reality; Batman was sucked through before he could intervene, arms flailing madly to try and anchor himself to something. Riddler's bowler hat and cane got caught in the whirlwind, but then deviated their course to return to their rightful owner; Edward Nygma reclaimed them with a satisfied smirk, his balance returning.

Bruce lost the fight against the mounting wind and started being dragged into the rip; he was suddenly halted by a tight grip on his arm, which would surely be leaving bruises later, and found himself face to face with a grinning Riddler, white eyes fixed on his face. "I believe you should also partake in this grand project, I am sure Wayne Enterprises will benefit greatly from the added publicity. I will be along sometime soon to discuss all options. I will just let myself in, shall I? After all, I know your office pretty well by now... Or maybe you would prefer a house-call?"

Satisfied by the horror he saw on Wayne's face, he let the billionaire go. With a final glance to his crumbling empire, he jumped through the opening and woke up in his virtual reality chair, covered in sweat. He fastidiously removed his helmet and sat up, glancing at the now black monitor. He might have lost a battle today, due to overconfidence, but the war had not even started yet. He went to peel his mask away but thought better of it, fingers flexing nervously inside his gloves. He met the white eyes of his reflection, surrounded by the darkness of the screen, and tapped a few buttons on the keyboard, bright green letters starting to appear in the previously pristine space, marking the start of a new plan, a new world.

"Smart cookie", he commented to no one in particular and the tapping went on well into the night.

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