Coalition

Chapter Nine: J'ai une énigme

'I have nothing to declare except my genius' Oscar Wilde

"J'onn?" burbled the radio incoherently, "J'onn?"

"Yeah?" asked the Martian Manhunter, able to identify the voice as, "Superman?"

"Could you come over here?" he asked, "I have a small problem."

"Sure." stated J'onn, shrugging off the many reasons why.

Flying over Gotham, J'onn observed that occasional shivers of fear reconnected his mental connection with the Bat. Apparently, he deduced, the blood in Batman's body had yet to be cured of the venomous fear toxin. Whilst the toxin had more or less turned into a poison, with the intention of destroying what sanity the Bat had, it continued to have its physical effects on his body. The symptoms were as so: shivering, cold sweat, increased pulse rate, bleary or unfocused eyes, rapid breathing, hallucinations and dizziness. J'onn had had to weaken the mental connection for fear of assimilating the symptoms.

As he approached Superman's location, found through the weak mental signals he was able to identify as belonging to the Kryptonian, he noticed something on the floor beside him. He was situated on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in Gotham, the size of which dwarfed that of Wayne Tower's. The building was new, shiny and glass paned, a move that made sense when taking notice of the building's two year age. Three years ago, a glass building in Gotham would have been suicide. Even now, the move was questionable.

J'onn landed silently on the cold, grey roof, his blue boots padded in such a way that his very touch went unnoticed by the building. Superman sensed him though and turned around to greet him. A fake, lying smile sat upon the fellow alien's face; he was trying to feign optimism but was clearly very concerned about Batman's condition. J'onn replied with his own fake smile, responding perfectly to the uniquely human action. He walked forward, pausing by Superman's side in order to examine the winded villain on the floor.

"What're you staring at?" it spat viciously, "Never seen a genius before?"

The man on the floor was slim and delicate-looking, lanky and tall. A deep enigmatic purple shirt covered his chest and this shirt was hugged by a sick green suit jacket intermittently coated in forest green question marks. This unusual design was copied precociously by the tailored trousers, tight tie and well-cared for hat. In his left hand was one half of a broken black walking stick whose other end lay on the floor with a question mark emblem on the top. The area around his eyes lay hidden beneath a mysterious mask of deep purple. His hair was short and matched his unwieldy and slightly unhinged personality perfectly.

"He won't even tell me his name," responded Superman, "Keeps reciting some kid's nursery rhyme."

"It's quite obvious that you're an alien, you know," explained the Riddler, "You can't even recognise one of the most widely known fairy tales on Earth."

"Who are you?" asked J'onn.

"I've tried that," interrupted Superman, "He doesn't give straight answers."

"My name is Edward Nigma," he began, "But my enemies call me 'The Riddler'."

"Batman's spoken about you before," stated J'onn, remembering one of the many times he had used him as an excuse to avoid coming to the one annual date when the entire League meet up in the Watchtower for tea, "He doesn't like you."

"He doesn't like anyone." stated Superman.

"From what I hear," stated the Riddler slyly, "Batman's left you some clues to find out the information you need."

"We need to know where he is," snapped Superman, "Can't you just tell us where he is?"

"No."

"Why not?" asked J'onn curiously.

"For one, I hate his guts and I can't see it as a bad thing that he's being shredded somewhere," replied the Riddler, "Secondly, if I can unravel his clues, I can prove I'm more intelligent than him and thirdly, I have no intention of sabotaging the Coalition."

"Okay," stated Superman, "I'm confused."

"Unsurprising, at best."

J'onn paused. The moon hung high in the sky, reflecting a yellowy golden glow from a hidden, obscured sun. The entire situation reeked of something unseen. It would be just like Batman to have the clues send them in the wrong direction. It would be just like the Joker to have something else up his sleeve, something involving Gotham City. It would explain why the Riddler wanted to help them and not sabotage the Coalition. Then again, J'onn recalculated, Batman would probably have stopped any threat against Gotham before he walked into the trap.

"So you'll help us?" asked J'onn.

"If you want to see it that way, yes." replied the enigma.

The Martian Manhunter simply nodded and helped the Riddler to his feet, Superman watched the entire thing with deeply cynical eyes. Superman was one of the few League members to have had previous run-ins with a few of Batman's adversaries and his cynicism, therefore, was well-placed. Even J'onn, who had only ever heard of these stories, had to admit that the villains Batman faced on a regular basis far outshone those of other major villains. Particularly due to their unusually colourful and insane nature.

The Riddler, far from impressed with the aid provided to him by the Martian, brushed his hand on his trouser leg as though it contained some disease that needed to be deleted. Taking charge, much to the dislike of the two superheroes present, the green-suited inmate demanded the current progression of the heroes and set about work immediately, thinking out loud and drawing incoherent lines all over their maps. They watched in fascination.

***

They watched in fascination at the Black Bat hunched in the corner once more. They had been stunned minutes earlier by his sudden outburst of energy in the face of Clayface but it had clearly drained what little energy he had managed to collect. His breathing had become significantly laboured and he would occasionally through his head back and gulp whatever poor air particles happened to be within range. From what the psychopathic group were able to make out, the short outburst had not only drained his energy reserves but also reopened a few of the scabbed wounds.

Purplish contusions were visible on some areas of his exposed, red stained skin from where the thick black armour had thinly been sliced open. A doctor would have had a nervous break down upon seeing the creature in the corner of the white-turned-red room. Splatters of blood could be seen staining the walls, the floor and, strangely, some sections of the room had not managed to escape the deadly disease of redness. Strained, raw, red glass coated the delicate blue orbs of the Bat's eyes. A delicate sigh turned heavy and burned the two powerful organs inside his chest.

His muscles roared out when he moved them, he had pushed them beyond what limits they had allowed him over the years and his mind was just about willing to follow suit. Sighing was the only thing he could do to minimise the toxin's effect of confusion on his mind. The sudden intake of oxygen and exhalation of carbon dioxide cleared his mind of the golden contortion for a few short seconds before the dizziness came back, overwhelming him and forcing his head back into the comfort of his arms. Mentally, he cursed himself. He'd dealt with worse before. Why was this time around making him feel so much worse?

I've been in states worse than this before, he told himself, I'm sure. Or maybe I'm wrong. I can't remember. It must be the toxin, screwing with my head, I can't think completely straight. Have to hand it to him, he can make one hell of a fear toxin.

Whilst he was still displaying the symptoms, the toxin had changed its primary directive and was sending his body into confusion. His mind felt dizzy but his body was perfectly still and balanced. His heart felt as though it were pumping at the speed a snail moves but was in fact several levels above his resting rate. His body felt cold and dry but was boiling and sweating. There was the additional loss of focus and he found himself unable to recover his thoughts; a process which not only worried him, but also served to confuse him even more.

"Poor Batsy," stated the Joker, "I'd almost feel sorry for him. Almost."

"His resilience is certainly commendable." stated the drone.

"Not sure I'd say that," replied another, "I'd say he's as stubborn as a bull in a bad mood."

"I'm impressed you know how stubborn a bull in a bad mood is." retorted the droning boredom.

"It's a metaphor," spat the voice, "You're not supposed to take it literally."

"Make yourself clearer then." suggested another voice.

"Oi, Harley," hollered the Joker impatiently, "Are you done yet?"

"Nope!" replied Harley perkily.

"Are you nearly done?" questioned the psychopathic clown.

"Nope!"

"I'd consider hurrying up if I were you." stated the Joker, waving a knife around in his hand.

"Nice use of the subjunctive, Joker." smirked the Scarecrow, knowledgably.

"What's that?"

"I want my turn." shouted the strange figure.

"Sure," replied the Joker, "But you're gonna have to wait a couple of minutes."

"Why?" it queried.

"I want him to suffer a bit more first." replied the Joker illogically.

Within the comforts of the padded, bloody room, the Batman shuddered; faintly aware that somewhere, the devil had given him a few minutes of freedom in which to think.

***

"And you've been at this how long?" asked the Riddler, whose face held upon it a look of such disgust and self-satisfaction, that it was almost unbearable to look at.

Superman's mouth had fallen slightly ajar. Within twenty minutes, the Riddler had uncovered all of the Batman's clues. The ease with which he had done it was disturbing in itself, he would be read the clue or shown the clue and after several hushed, incoherent whispers, he had discovered the location of the next clue. He had, naturally, been quite unhappy about being carried through Gotham's skyways from one building to the next but he had had very little say in the matter as Superman was in a pretty foul mood from the constant streams of critical dialogue flowing from the slim green-suited figure.

"I don't know Gotham very well," replied Superman sharply, "I couldn't have been expected to know where that last clue was."

The Martian Manhunter leant over to examine the map the super-powered Kryptonian was hiding behind his back. A small smile curved his normally stony complexion. The map had significant landmarks named with large arrows pointing towards them. J'onn was going to open his mouth to mention this fact but thought better of it, being as the Riddler had enough ammunition as it was without the directions on the map being emphasised to a point that would seem ridiculous.

"You should have known the name of the hospitals," retorted the Riddler, "Two were blown up last month, and one of those was blown up less than two years ago."

"Gotham blows up a lot doesn't it?" asked J'onn, noticing the common factor between Gotham having many criminals and Gotham blowing up a lot.

"That's an understatement," replied the Riddler, "If a building doesn't blow up at least a year, someone's not doing their job properly."

To this, the two garishly coloured superheroes fell silent despite facing the equally fashion-blind green villain. It was little wonder Gotham was always being criticised for running through its budget – given in January – before May. Surprisingly, crimes in Gotham were less reported nationally than they should be; presumably because the media got bored after the hundredth kidnapping, hostage-taking, blowing-up-of-important-buildings and general criminal activities. The two superheroes sighed before Superman turned to J'onn with a decision.

"I should let A-" Superman paused to change his sentence when the Riddler's ears perked up interested, "Our contact know the latest development."

J'onn nodded and watched the Riddler as Superman walked off to the other side of the rooftop to avoid the keenly intrigued villain from eavesdropping. The Riddler seemed quite overtly frustrated by this and fidgeted frequently, as well as diving from left to right in an attempt to lip read Superman's half of the conversation which, as he saw it, may have contained wondrous facts and figures of interest. Instead, at each attempt, J'onn, with more pleasure than he should have had, stepped in front of the criminal's view, blocking it.

"Alfred?" asked Superman, one hand on the radio earpiece as though it made a difference of some sort, which it, insignificantly, didn't.

"Yes?" came the ever so slightly muffled by biscuit reply.

"Are you eating biscuits?" asked the Flash, eager to leap into any conversation more exciting than the political one he was being forced to listen to back on Arkham Island.

"No," replied Alfred, "Technically they're cakes."

"They sound like biscuits." snapped the Flash.

"Oh," responded Alfred, "That's just the radio feed. They're Jaffa Cakes if you must know."

"Aren't Jaffa Cakes biscuits?" asked the Flash.

"Don't be stupid," replied the Green Lantern, "Biscuits go soft, cakes go stale."

"Really?" asked Diana, "I thought it was the other way around."

"GUYS!" exclaimed Superman, not fully believing that superheroes were having this conversation when one of their teammates was locked up somewhere with his worst enemies, "Please!"

A series of 'sorry' burbled over the radio.

"Thank you," responded Superman, "Alfred, I found a location."

"Superb!" announced Alfred, "Where?"

"Gotham Central."

"The hospital that got blown up last month?" asked Hawk Girl, recalling the name from somewhere.

"Indeed," replied Alfred, "Gotham Central has a bit of a record for blowing up."

"And to think every other city is lucky if something blows up once every two decades." stated Green Lantern satirically.

"Indeed." sighed Alfred before exiting the conversation to ponder.

Superman nodded, acknowledging something he had no need to. Hand removed from his radio, he walked over to the Green Alien whose shadow loomed over the Green villain whose eyes were alight with untoward curiosity. The two superheroes exchanged knowing glances before looking down upon the smirking snake who sat, equally knowingly, on the floor of the rooftop.

"Well?" he asked snappily, "What now?"

"Now we have to follow J'onn's clues." sighed Superman.

"Well," began the Riddler, "If he's even half as intelligent as he looks, it might actually be harder to solve these ones."

Glaring, the two heroes carried the Riddler through the grey skies towards the last clue J'onn had found before the League's meeting in the cave. As they soared through the air, J'onn took the time to strengthen his mental connection with the Batman. The dark mind was, as usual, hiding something, obscuring something behind a veil of some unreadable concoction of emotions. Sighing, the Martian wondered at the seemingly preposterous leap between humanity's utter simplicity and its infinite complexity.

***

Sitting in the corner, hunching in a protective ball, Bruce Wayne prayed that the fear toxin would fade away. Whilst it should have moved onto the process of obliterating the fragmenting glass house of his fragile state of mind, his iron-hard will kept forcing it back. Thus the yo-yo process from fear to vegetable continued as the poison flooded the corridors of his body. It was all he could do to prevent the tiny floodgates holding back the tsunami from completely shattering. Such weakness would be his downfall, he had told himself angrily.

Give them ammunition, he repeated, and they'll shoot you. Give them an opening and they'll stab you. Give them your weaknesses and they'll destroy you.

The mighty and vast padded white door swung open with immense speed despite the sound it made suggesting otherwise. The tiny, screeching squeaks of the door as the metal hinges strained against the weight, sung terrifically into the white room. The hinges were crying out desperately but their deep screams were clunky; moving as if gears and pistons were controlling the sounds in a very haphazard and careless way. When the door was slammed shut, however, a chilling squeal echoed within the safety of the red stained room.

A sudden realisation stabbed the Bat in the stomach several seconds to late; a minute after the fear toxin had contorted the senses to a point of incoherency. His mind was transported to the cave, again but this time there was no assailant directly responsible for the explosion of fear in his stomach. Whilst the imaginary bats chattered above him, his mind acknowledged them as a part of his life and not something to fear. It was when he forced himself to stand to his feet and look ahead of him that the disguised devil revealed his heavenly silver platter.

His mouth quivered, trying to open, trying to form the words his mind, in its confused state, had made. Instead, it fell shut and his eyes shot wildly around the room, faintly aware of the golden slivers that followed them. Slight cracks in the floodgates leaked salty droplets onto his mask as a sense of incomparable relief briefly hid the apprehensive fear within his stomach. His mind had been fooled into believing it was safe, his instincts knew different but were brutally ignored.

A smirk gleamed upon the face of Stirk.

A/N: Thanks to the people who are reading and who are reviewing. If I may, a request to people who are reading but not reviewing.

Even if it's once every five chapters, a review to let me know you're reading would be nice, even if you hate my guts, some form of 'yay' or 'nay' feedback would be beneficial.

Thanks again to everyone who's reading.