Hey everyone. Thanks so much for sticking around this long. Sorry that it's been a while, I've had these chapters pre-written forever! I'm going to post the other chapters all in a row, on the same day, so I hope that makes the wait a little less unbearable.

Again, thank you for reading!~

-S

Abby awoke peacefully. It was the first time in her whole life that she hadn't woken up feeling even a little tired or drowsy. She felt awake. Refreshed. The Wayne Manor beds were certainly a lot better than her old shabby apartment bed.

It was eight in the morning and when Abby leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp she noticed her phone flashing brightly on top of the dresser. A missed call already? Abby scrambled out of bed and picked up her phone in confusion. My old landlord? Abby could've sworn she told her she was moving out. What could she want?

"Abigail?" The woman picked up the phone. Her tone was a mixture of worry and fear.

"Hey, what's up?" Abby asked, confused. As she spoke, she got out of bed and began changing into a tee shirt and jeans.

"Your apartment was ransacked. There's a note- just... Get here, please?"

"Oh-okay," Abigail gasped. She hung up the phone before shoving it into her pocket. She walked into the hall and down the stairs with a frightening pace.

Alfred, looking the same as he always did-at least for the short time Abby knew him-had just been walking out of the kitchen doorway when he noticed her.

"Miss Crawford, would you like to have breakfast?" Alfred asked, his arms behind his back.

"No... Th-Thank you. My old apartment got broken into," Abby said, still surprised at the news.

"Oh my, shall I get Master Bruce?" Alfred asked.

"No, I have to go check it out. I'll be back, okay?" Abigail said, not really expecting an answer. She quickly ran out of the manor, grabbing her usual purple sweat jacket on the way out.

"Abby, I've already called the police and they're waiting to speak to you," the landlady said to Abigail. They stood just outside the building, which was still surrounded by GCPD cars. These are way too many cars for just a simple break-in. What could've happened?

Abigail nodded at the woman before entering the grim and dark apartment building. The apartment was in a bad neighborhood, although, all of Gotham was a bad neighborhood. At least, that's what Apolena had always said.

Now that she was thinking on it, Abby supposed it was true. Gotham had the highest crime rate in the country. Probably all of the sociopathic and psychopathic nuts around. Abby recalled Apolena saying. We're the only city in the country I've ever heard of having people dressing up and mass murdering on a daily basis. I wish I knew what the hell we did that makes us deserve this. Why don't they all spread out a little? Why Gotham?

As Abby made her way to her apartment, she noticed her old neighbors now looked at her with mournful faces instead of the usual friendly greeting she received. What the hell happened? When Abigail found her apartment door, she was met with a police officer blocking the doorway. He was tall and had dark hair. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, and tired of his job. "Sorry, miss, crime scene."

"Crime scene?" Abby asked. "This is my apartment."

"You're Abigail Crawford?" the man asked. He suddenly reached for the walkie talkie around his chest and spoke into it. "The victim is here."

"Victim?" Abby asked. What could've happened? It sounds like a murder scene, not a break in...

The officer turned and opened the door to the apartment and motioned for Abby to enter. Abigail slowly walked in, the man following her. As she entered her apartment, she was met to what she had left. Everything that hadn't been moved to the manor yet was still there. Neatly. The only difference? There were new things.

Green spray paint adorned the walls. Question marks were everywhere. All over the walls.. All over her things.. Abigail breathed in deeply. It couldn't be...

Then a question. Painted on the wall. Riddle me this; what has a flag that doesn't wave?

"Riddler," Abby whispered. She couldn't believe it. Why? What was he after?

"Good eye," the officer said from behind her. "He left this for yah' too." Waving his arm, an officer hurriedly walked to the man and handed him a sealed plastic bag with a sheet of paper inside. He handed the bag to Abby and watched as she read it.

Dear Miss Crawford, I was intending to use you for another of my tests today, but it seems you weren't in. So, I've left a riddle for you. I thought you might enjoy it. Sincerely, the Riddler.

"Do you have any idea why he woulda' targeted yah'?" The officer asked.

"I'm a journalist. I wrote an article about him a few days ago," Abby answered. The officer instantly began taking notes. She wasn't sure how she should feel. What exactly did the Riddler plan on doing to her?

"Do yah' have any information on him, where he is?"

"What?" Abby asked. What would I know? "No. Not at all."

Abigail quickly gave the officer her information. Phone number, full name, everything he asked for.

"Here's my card. M'name's Harvey Bullock, call if you think of anythin', you hear?" The officer said, handing Abby a slip of paper. Abigail nodded before she turned back to the riddle on the wall. What has a flag that doesn't wave?

"Mailbox," Abby gasped. What did he put in my mailbox?!

"What's that?" Bullock asked.

"N-nothing," Abby stuttered. "I just thought I'd check my mail while I was here."

Quickly Abigail walked out of her apartment and into the lobby of the building where a group of mailboxes hung on the wall. Finding her name, she opened the mailbox. There was a stack of envelopes, all nothing out of the ordinary, except for the bright green envelope on top. In cursive handwriting on the front of it, the name Abigail was written. It was hand delivered. No stamps, no return address.

I'd better not stick around, before they figure out that riddle...

"Abby?" Abigail turned to find her disheveled landlord behind her.

"Oh, um," Abby had to get out of there. "I have to run. I'll pay for new wallpaper or anything you need, just give me a call, okay? Bye!"

With that, Abigail ran for the door and finally out of the apartment building.

"Harley!" a voice shouted Harley's name. It was the Joker, of course. Slowly Harley approached the man, who was cuffed to the table, with a plastered-on-fake smile, pigtails bouncing behind her. The way he said her name was long and drawn out, almost like he was seeing an old friend he hadn't seen in years.

Harley studied the Joker's face. She didn't want to sit until she was sure of what she was doing. He had his usual, pointed smile, his same green eyes that screamed insanity, but no evil intent was present. At least, not that Harley could see. With a sigh, Harley sat down before Joker.

"Oh Harley, is something wrong?" Concern shrouded Joker's unnaturally pale face.

"Yes," Harley answered. She took a moment to breathe out. After thinking hard for a whole night and not getting any sleep, she was certain that this was what she wanted to do. That is, until she got here. Until she was finally before the Joker and the world began to spin in on her. "Joker, I'm…"

"Yes, dear?" Joker asked. Was she sure? Was this what she wanted to do? Harley had no idea. Then again, she supposed she didn't have much to lose.

"Joker," Harley frowned. "I'm not happy."

With that, Harley reached for the tape that was meant to record her sessions with Joker and pressed the stop button.