"Following the Commissioner's bizarre statement was even worse news: Authorities have withdrawn their earlier comments, claiming that the outbreak…"
"Turn that off."
A bodyguard shifted over to the radio and did as ordered, turning off the morning news broadcast.
"Tell me of your exploits, Mr. Vivo."
A slim man with slicked black hair looked across the desk at his boss.
"Well, sir, it was jus' like you said. We lost a few, sure, but nothing like they did. We dealt 'em a big blow, even if they ain't done for yet."
The boss leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie. The heat of summer was suffocating.
"Good, that's good. But I assume you've heard what else happened last night."
Vivo nodded.
"Yeah, I heard."
One of the bodyguards peered out the blinds, allowing a sliver of sunlight to enter the room.
"Five of my capos died last night. Looks like Giovanni himself decided to paint his walls with his brains, but the rest of 'em were all offed. The first at one of our smuggling operations, another in the bathroom of a restaurant downtown, next at a bar and another in his fucking bed. Nobody saw nothing. And now we look more incompetent than the police."
He nodded again.
"And this fucking bitch has the gall to leave me a fucking note. She's making us look weak and she's laughing at us."
"She, boss?"
The boss slid the letter over the desk.
"Unless there's some guy I don't know about who signs his death-threats with a kiss."
Vivo stared at the paper. Just one handwritten line followed by a mark in lipstick.
"Well, maybe…"
"Don't tell me. I refuse to believe it."
He stared at his boss uncomfortably. He never liked it when his conversations with the boss veered out of the simple mold of receiving orders. He really did not want the only don in Gotham who personally took care of dirty work to think of him as a friend.
"If the next words out of your mouth will in any way imply Mickey Mulligan or some other idiot signs his death-threats with a kiss I will need to kill something."
Vivo kept staring at his boss but the discomfort lessened somewhat.
"No, boss, I was thinkin' of the Joker."
The boss exhaled audibly.
"Right. But no, not him. No clowns and no media coverage mean this definitely isn't him. He's been in Arkham this whole time, anyway."
He coughed into his hand.
"Right, boss, of course. Do we have any idea who this is, then?"
The red eyes bored into his.
"No, but Giovanni was working at it. Had a contact, he said. Someone very dangerous. I'm going to set up a meeting. I want you take care of things for now. No attacks, finishing the Irish will have to wait. Just keep an eye on things and be ready for whatever they can think of throwing at us."
Vivo stood quickly, grabbing his fedora.
"On it, boss. I'll go get my crew."
The boss waved a hand in dismissal and he marched out.
She walked slowly towards the prone figure, the gun still in her hand, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the hideous thing.
He took in a shuddering breath and focused his wide eyes on her as she stopped a couple of feet away from him.
"You fucking bitch! You s-shot me!"
Her eyes traveled to the shattered flesh of his left leg, noting the pooling blood with displeasure. After all these years at Arkham she no longer felt queasy at the sight of it. Now she merely felt sad.
"You… magnificent… fucking… bitch!" He breathed in sharply through his teeth. "This isn't possible! Since when do you even own a gun, you miserable excuse for a human being?"
She ran a hand through her hair and exhaled slowly.
"I'm sorry, Edward."
He stopped his tirade and extended a shaking hand halfway to his bleeding leg, his eyes twitching at the sight of it. He let out a growling scream, more in the direction of the sky than her. She felt sorry for him, somewhere deep inside. But she was too numb to say anything.
"I know where you live! Our friendship is over!"
He let out a nervous cackle. It reminded her of a patient she'd had once. He'd shot himself a few days after he was discharged. One of her many failures.
"And a million more hollow threats," the Riddler's voice broke her out of her reverie.
A strange sound behind her prompted her to turn around slowly. The sight was absurd, but not alarming, her brain decided. The Riddler seemed not to notice.
"W-will you get me an ambulance or, or are you just going to stand there and let me bleed out, you moron?"
She turned around again. He was right, he was turning rather pale.
"Yes," she spoke hazily.
The Batman materialized at her side in an uncharacteristically loud way. He was covered in green goo and seemed to have lost both a glove and a boot. His slow movements suggested either arthritis or just a bad day. A gloved hand rested on her shoulder, bringing a glob of slime with it. She couldn't muster the strength to curl her lip.
"You did the right thing."
The Riddler's head slumped to the ground.
"This is so humiliating."
The Batman removed his hand from her shoulder.
"There are ambulances by the front entrance. You can pass safely through the asylum. But don't go into the warden's office."
He hobbled off into the sunrise. Joan went for help. Riddler groaned.
Gordon listened to the news with one ear, most of his attention riveted on the many reports in front of him.
"The Black Death has not been brought under control and is thought be spreading rapidly. Citizens are advised to stay indoors or use respirators when outdoors. Sanitation and…"
A plague, unnatural monsters, gang warfare, fear toxin, possible mind control, what next? Riddles, jokes and ninjas and the package would be complete.
His gloom was interrupted by the arrival of a burly detective in his office. It was Bullock, looking even less hygienic than usual.
"What do you make of it, Bullock? The media's reception of my statement?"
Bullock scratched his chin and grimaced.
"Seemed to take it pretty well, considerin'. But they probably think we've all gone nutso. An' I can't blame 'em. Still, we had to warn people, right?"
Gordon nodded and coldly regarded his even colder coffee.
"But what did you want to see me about?"
Bullock cleared his throat.
"Bad news, Commish."
The commissioner looked up from his coffee.
"Of course. Go on."
"It's the Scarecrow witness. All our guys were incapacitated. No sign of the witness anywhere."
He sighed.
"Have a small team comb through the crime scene. Sad as it is, we have to focus our attention elsewhere. The gangs are acting up and this latest development suggests they won't quiet down even if we start to pressure them. You were the one who found the…hand… weren't you?"
"Yeah, sir. I'm all right. We don't know who it belongs to, though. The fingertips were all sawed off. My guess is it's one of the Irish. It looks like it's them, the Russians and the Italians that are dukin' it out."
The commissioner turned off the radio and turned his full attention to the detective.
"Alright. Bullock, I'm putting you in charge of the gang situation. A third of my officers are at your disposal. Try to keep them from tearing the city and each other apart. Don't hesitate calling for assistance if things get hairy."
"On it, Commish. We'll beef up surveillance of known activities. Make some arrests, get at least some of these clowns off the streets. I'll go see one of my contacts on the west side, see if he knows what the Irish are up to."
Gordon clasped his hands in front of him.
"Tell Montoya to come see me."
Bullock left and a short while later the Latin-American detective entered the office and sat down opposite him.
"I'm putting you in charge of the Murphy case, Renee. I'll personally handle the park case. We will split a third of my officers between us, leaving plenty to stay here in case the Scarecrow tries to take back his research. Any questions?"
Montoya shook her head no.
"I'll just need a quick look at the file. I can check his apartment again, speak to relatives, maybe talk to Randall, make him give us a description of the short man."
Gordon handed her his report on the case.
"This is a strange one, so keep your mind open. See what the lab boys say about that hat."
She gave him a bewildered look.
"Hat, sir?"
He felt patently ridiculous, but he had to follow his gut.
"I know how it sounds, but trust me. It may be that Randall lost his mind and scrambled that weird thing together, but if the last few days have taught me anything it's that nothing is impossible right now."
Montoya nodded her head hesitatingly.
"Very well, sir. I'll try to think outside the box. What will you do?"
Gordon stood and retrieved his coat.
"I'll get out of this damn office, for one. Then I'll try speaking with the attackers from the park again. Inspect their weapons, see if I can gather who supplied them. Then I'll speak to some academics, get a second opinion on those…creatures. These things aren't natural, meaning someone must be creating them. Someone who clearly knows what they're doing. The list of people who could possibly do such things can't be long."
She nodded again and made for the door.
"Good luck, Commissioner."
Evan Rattle was seated in front of the television, watching his morning cartoons.
He was a troubled man. He sometimes had trouble discerning reality from fiction. Sometimes he hallucinated. Like now.
The window on his left, the one leading to the apartment block's fire escape, was open.
Something stood outside, obscured by the blinds. It wanted in.
But Evan knew it wasn't really there. As long as he kept watching his bright and happy cartoons, it couldn't hurt him. And everyone would be happy again.
Claws slowly appeared from behind the blinds and gripped the window frame.
He was not worried. He regulated his breathing and watched the funny mouse hurt the cat. He was not worried at all.
A grotesque head was on the periphery of his vision, slowly looking around the room.
Evan liked the silliness of cartoons. No matter how much the mouse hurt the cat, no one was ever really hurt. They always came back to bring more cheer. Everyone was happy.
The creature entered fully and stood for a moment by the window, watching him.
He wasn't having much luck regulating his breathing. But it was okay. Everything was okay.
The thing left his vision. He felt it, rather than heard it, pass behind him.
Of course he didn't hear it. It wasn't actually there, after all. There was nothing there. This was a perfectly ordinary morning. Evan was just watching some cartoons.
There was nothing but the sound of cartoony violence. Evan was tempted to look behind him. Maybe the monster was harmless, maybe it just wanted shelter from the sun?
No, that wasn't it. There was no sound because there was no one but him in the apartment. He reminded his lungs of their duty, forcing the lazy things back to work.
They didn't work long. The claws clutched his shoulders, the creature breathing down his neck. Evan shuddered but kept his eyes focused on the screen.
"Do you remember me?"
He whimpered.
"I tried to help you once. You might not have realized, but I was trying to help you."
The cartoons were happy. He wanted to disappear into the screen. Be happy too.
"Do you know why you suffer as you do? Because a part of you has been stolen."
The credits started rolling. Evan started listening.
"There are powerful, evil forces in this city. I tried to restore you, because I know what it feels like. To have a part of you stolen. I tried to restore you, but it was in vain. You won't be whole again. Unless we can beat them."
Evan's lip wobbled. He felt like all the misery of the last few years of his life was bearing down on him full force.
"You d-d-didn't h-help me. You h-hurt m-m-me."
"To help you. The restoration is a painful process. I believed I could restore your sight, but I was wrong. Only by destroying the evil that stole what is ours can we become whole again."
"M-my sight?"
"Your sight. You still see, but only halfway. Instead of truth you catch only glimpses, broken images instead of the beauty you should be seeing. They have taken it, to control you."
He felt a spark of hope. He had always known the world wasn't as ugly as he saw it. Had always hoped.
"W-what d-d-did they t-take from y-you?"
Its head was just inches from his ear now.
"My essence. They have cursed me. Cursed me so I cannot stand the light of day, cursed me so that I appear as I do now. I was a creature of light, but they have stripped me of my essence."
His blood burned with righteous anger. He'd always dreamed it was so. That the world wasn't inherently evil. That it could be saved. That the world he saw every day was twisted, distorted. That something bright and beautiful lay beneath, just waiting to be drawn back to the surface. That They had hidden it.
"Who a-are they?"
"They are the ones with power. They pose as creatures of light and abuse the trust people show them. Their leader poses as a beacon of hope, but he is truly a demon. He calls himself Gordon."
Evan inhaled sharply.
"Demons? S-so y-you're a-a…?"
"Yes, Evan. I am an angel. And I need your help."
It was surprising she had been able to simply walk home and get her car. She'd expected someone to be there, doing police stuff. Or at least some yellow tape to make the place look like it was under investigation.
But she supposed it was a good thing. And maybe they were just busy. Maybe something else had happened, something more important. This was Gotham, after all. And she'd rather they were off helping people than here keeping guard over nothing.
It was a truly beautiful morning. The sun beamed ever harder down at the dirty city. There was nary a cloud in the sky and the birds chirped happily as she drove down the street. She hadn't felt so relaxed in a long while.
She turned on the radio.
"…experts speculate as to whether the whole city might be quarantined to keep the outbreak from spreading even further."
There was much work to be done. She felt saddened at the thought of all the suffering, but things would get better soon. She had full faith in the city. She changed the channel.
"Reports are coming in of multiple shootings last night, which our sources claim to be the latest developments in a rapidly escalating gang war."
So that was why the police were busy. She wondered why the mobsters had to pick this time to start trouble. People could be so blind. But she supposed it couldn't be helped. All will do as they feel they must.
Perhaps they would see the way some day. Everything was so crystal clear if only one knew where to look.
But she needed to find out what Dr. Crane was up to. She pulled up next to an internet cafe.
Amidst dreams of menacing creatures draped in darkness coming after him and promising bodily harm, Floyd could feel himself being shaken. His horrid dreams slowly vanished from his thoughts and were quickly replaced by feelings of pain.
His eyes opened to see the ground rushing by, his body raking along the harsh surface. He quickly realized he was being dragged through the jungle-infested cavern by her vines. Despite his loud protests and struggling, they refused to listen to reason.
After numerous bumps and scratches his suffering was finally alleviated. The vines hefted him up into the air before depositing him close to her. He landed clumsily and rubbed his aching limbs.
"I got legs for a reason, ya know."
She had her back turned to him.
"You were asleep."
They were standing in front of a dark tunnel, what little Floyd could see of the walls covered with green.
"One of my many abilities is waking up. This enables me to walk, avoiding the pain that comes with being dragged along the floor. Incredible, I know."
She entered the tunnel.
"It does not matter. I want to show you something."
He hesitatingly followed into the darkness, moving slowly to avoid bumping into anything.
"What is this place? I don't think I've seen it before."
"It's new. I've been tunneling."
Her voice was a long way ahead of him.
"Will you slow down? I ain't gonna risk breakin' my neck to keep up with ya."
"Take my hand."
Something found his fingers, something warm and moist and digit-less.
"Please tell me that ain't your hand. And please tell me I don't have to hold it."
"Very well."
The thing slid up to his wrist and encircled it. Floyd felt bile rising in his throat.
"I think I'm gonna hurl."
"You're too demanding. You should be satisfied with this compromise."
The thing started tugging and Floyd reluctantly staggered along.
"Lesser men woulda just thrown up already. Me? I issue a warning beforehand. You should be thanking the gods for my company, not belittling me."
"Do not worry. Belittling you is impossible."
Floyd felt a bit more at ease than he usually did around her. She sounded more human than he had ever heard her.
"And would that be because I'm impressive enough to be impervious to ridicule, or because I couldn't possibly look sillier?"
Her answer came from the darkness right in front of him.
"I am sure you can guess."
Plants pulled back to reveal an exit, even the little light of the cavity beyond managing to be blinding. They stepped through and Floyd's eyes slowly grew accustomed to the light.
"What the hell?"
They were in the sewers, but slight modifications had been made. The whole place had felt the touch of her green thumb, wildly inappropriate plant life stretching throughout the tunnels as far as the eye could see. Across the stream of filth was a cavity in the wall, revealing numerous crates of explosives.
"This will be our means of transportation once the city starts coming apart."
A bunch of the bums were down here too, looking grim and determined. Floyd was starting to detest the sight of them.
"And the bombs?"
"Part of our next little strike. We are going to blow up the city's power plants."
He turned his head to look at her.
"Why?"
She leaned on the railing, inspecting the green banks of the sewer.
"I believe it will further our cause. Fear festers in darkness. Others will capitulate. Distraction after distraction to keep the authorities from the real threat."
Floyd felt a bit uncomfortable. Why did she have to tell him this? It reminded him of movie-villains, and Floyd did not like thinking such people actually existed. He forgot his discomfort at his next realization. If she were a movie villain, that would make him the brain-dead eye-candy draped over the villain's arm during the monologue.
"This is not just a way to get around unseen," she continued.
She let go of the leaf she had been stroking absentmindedly and turned to look at him.
"The end lies down here."
His discomfort reintroduced itself.
"That sounds ominous."
"Wouldn't you say?"
He pursed his eyes and wondered what she was referring to.
"But what does it mean?"
"In a matter of days, you shall see."
Vines started slowly crawling along the platform with the crates of explosives.
"For now, we have other duties to fulfill."
The Mad Hatter was seated outside a pub in the late afternoon sun, a hand tilting his hat down to keep the sun from his eyes. The street was empty, all the abandoned businesses serving to keep the little street from the world's rude stare.
Usually this place was infested with bums, but he noted with great pleasure that there was not a one smelly creature in sight this day. The only distraction had been the little mobsters that came to check if the place of meeting was safe. They were his now, and their signal for the big fish to arrive had been sent regardless.
His immense powers of concentration flailed wildly as he reached out to all his pawns. They were adequately placed, even if he was having trouble finding windows for some. They might have more luck by themselves but he did not trust their little minds for this, bless their hearts.
He raised his wrist. There was no clock there. He raised the other one. It was as he thought. Giovanni's friend was late, as well as infuriatingly rude. This just served to further focus the Hatter's anger. This was good, for he was no longer sure why he wanted to meet the man in the first place. It probably wasn't important anymore.
Finally a row of limos appeared. Such drab vehicles. All black and not a ray of hope to be seen. If he had a brush he would brighten the mood considerably. Alas, he would have to settle for something else entirely.
The limos came to a stop and countless insignificant gnats piled out, decked in even more black. Very droll. They peered around and he moved his pawns back to avoid their gaze, all but the ones he wanted them to see.
At last a silly man showed himself and the Hatter was sure this was the one. If one called oneself Black Mask, one would presumably be the one who wore a black mask, no? Although why it had to resemble a skull eluded him.
He smiled and moved his pawns back in place, running for cover as he pulled dozens of triggers. Countless small bursts of noise, some screaming, the pawns on the street falling not far from him, then a loud explosion to flip one of the limos on its head. Already it was more pleasing to the eye.
He sat with his back to a little stone wall and went through his person, looking for something to pass the time while the noise lasted. He drew forth a little book and inspected it with half a mind. It seemed to be a sketch book. Strange. He had no recollection of drawing any of the art inside. The pictures looked like something he might have seen in his world.
The chaos continued for a good while more but finally the Hatter had triumphed. There were some people squirming on the ground as he walked through the carnage. They came up during the rain, so as not to drown in their place in the ground, or so the Hatter had heard. They mattered not.
This one did, however. The mask had escaped unscathed as by some miracle. The torso was shredded, sadly. On second thought, that was exactly according to plan. He pondered whether to gloat over the body or not. Remembering his manners, he decided not to and was turning to leave when a mechanical sounding voice broke the delicious silence.
"Did you really think killing the greatest leader in Gotham would be so easy?"
He stopped and turned his head to better speak to the silly man.
"Yes?"
"All you've managed is to anger me. No matter where you hide, I will find you. You're a dead man walking, fool."
"Aren't we all, dear, aren't we all?"
He kept walking away, barely hearing the reply.
"Die, moron!"
Another limo exploded, but the Hatter was not overly troubled. He was far enough away. The force of the explosion was enough to knock him to his knees though.
He stood up and realized he was somewhat livid.
AN: And so we reluctantly say our goodbyes to the Riddler. He'll be carted off to the hospital off-screen, where his leg will return to full capacity, because this is based on comics and therefore bullet wounds mean nothing. Besides, the humiliation should be more than enough. His swearing is a result of intense pain. And the "magnificent" part was because he was still slightly impressed, because Joan just showcased impressive accuracy. It struck me as amusing to have the nicest person in Arkham be a sharpshooter. It also started me thinking what sort of woman Riddler would be attracted to. I'm not completely sure, but I know he'd want someone he could engage in fierce games of passive-aggressiveness if he ever settled down.
Scarecrow's vision last chapter referenced Norse Mythology. His posing as an angel here is unrelated. More on the gang he is getting together in chapters to come.
The mobster names last chapter mean Dream, Bullet, Clean and Drink (or close enough). The new one is named Alive. Black Mask easily finds doppelgangers because his distinctive features consist of a mask. Paranoia pays, kids. Maybe there's some monologue about identity there, but I don't think it would fit.
Here Comes The Night is a song with Them.