A Little Game
Riddler had left a trail of destruction in his wake, but at least of all things he had left a trail, something tangible.
The radio had been nothing but chaos, reports of collisions and sightings of Batman on a bike. Gordon could already imagine tomorrow's news, it would be its own kind of mess. But right now, that didn't remotely matter as much as the present. The SUV they had been chasing had been left abandoned outside, alongside several others left precariously in the street, in the front of a building under construction.
The wide-open doors gave away where Riddler had gone.
Gordon stood in front of the building now as other SWAT vans began to arrive. There wasn't time to mount some kind of plan. More time stood here waiting was more time for Riddler to ready himself. The veteran cop didn't expect a man like Riddler to go quietly. Bullock was already moving for the trunk, pulling it open and pulling a shotgun out with one hand as the other held up a box of shotgun shells.
There was a handful of SWAT teams moving up with them. Gordon wasn't sure how many were still stuck in City Hall. The place had been rendered nothing but a battlefield the last time he saw it. The chances of any backup behind the three SWAT vans were slim, but they had to work with the limited resources that they had. That pistol was removed from his holster again and held tightly in Gordon's grip as he moved forward. He produced a flashlight in his free hand and clicked it on before cautiously stepping into the main lobby.
No visible tripwires, no kind of men waiting to ambush them…just silence.
Sweeping the lobby revealed two staircases opposite of the reception desk, a fading wooden balcony at the top of the two staircases. A door was to the left and right of the downstairs. SWAT began moving straight for the staircases, the heavy clunk of their rifles and body armor echoed through the seemingly abandoned building. Two sets of footsteps stomped on the staircases as Gordon eyed the door to the left. Which way had they gone?
A cry came out, drawn out by the loud metallic click and a sickening crunch. Gordon turned back in time to see one of the officers tumble down the stairs, taking with him another man who was unfortunate enough to be behind him. Another mechanical click and the right staircase became alive with noise, three SWAT officers tumbled down.
"It's a trap!" One yelled out, another metal click, and then another scream as bone snapped as easy as that. The chaos broke out as easily as that. It almost became every man for himself, with two injured men being trapped by the retreating officers towards the door. Gordon remained rooted in place, eventually moving with his gun aimed for the stairs. Sections of the stairs moved outward in fast jabs. It was some kind of trap that would snap the ankle with the kind of speed it moved with. Gordon tried not to think about it. That way up was a no-go, but what about the door ahead of them now? Bullock cast the door ahead with the same kind of look of caution he felt.
He raised his gun towards it as they approached, Bullock stood back with his shotgun aimed at the center of the wooden door, trying the handle and then pushing the door open, moving further down the hall. Nothing happened. No tripwire, no gun rigged to fire or anything. It was just a corridor now being lit up by several low hanging light bulbs. They had to move through. The flickering of lights, while eerie, was a sign he was watching…almost as if he was trying to lead them along.
"What the fuck is this place, Jim?"
"Some kind of lair…." Gordon eyed the corridor ahead of them through that door, spying a wooden green door at the other end. "We're going to have to go in."
The glance he got of Bullock's expression didn't inspire much confidence. He wasn't great about this either. But, who knew if Riddler hadn't already left out a back door, or maybe he was simply attempting to hole up here until some kind of plan could be formulated. They couldn't slow down their pursuit now, even if there were traps in this place.
"We're gonna have to move slow, Jim. We have to make sure we don't set off any fucking land mines or something." Bullock insisted, keeping his shotgun trained ahead of him as he joined him in passing through the doorway. There was nothing. They kept torches trained on the ground and the walls; no tripwires, no possible spy holes, no visible mechanisms. He hated that he couldn't relax, there could be another trap through that next door.
Every step was cautious, Gordon trapped his palm against the handle, expecting there to be a possible trap wired into it. Nothing. He twisted the handle carefully next, nodding to Bullock as he readied himself to breach through. Gordon turned to the side of the door again like the last one and pushed it open, glancing as Bullock peered through, shotgun first. The lights turned on as they did in the corridor behind them before, illuminating Bullock's focused gaze.
"Looks clear," Bullock muttered, hesitant to move forward initially, but he moved after a few seconds. He was sure to back him, as soon as Bullock disappeared into the next room, Gordon followed right after him. Sweeping his torch across the corridor. This corridor was shorter, ending with a sudden turn that led right. As they moved up closer, they saw it was the beginnings of a staircase.
"Ain't falling for that shit, Jimbo," Bullock told him, shaking his head as the image of what happened to those SWAT officers no doubt replayed in his mind. There was no other way, a light just out of sight. It flashed on and off repeatedly, some kind of taunt as if it knew they weren't going up the stairs immediately.
"No other way up, he's taunting us." Gordon theorized, noticing the light remaining on now. "Come on, you hear the slight sound of something and I'll cover you."
That was some relief to Bullock, who now tested the first step, tapping at the creaky wood with his boot. Once he knew it was safe, he moved up to it, shotgun trained ahead of them as they both carefully made every step as slow and delicate as they could. It was like they were stepping through a minefield and every possible step meant death. Ahead of them was another corridor, this one shorter with a door at the end of it and flanked by two identical ones. Anxiety ruled every move they made now, which door would lead the way they wanted.
"What kind of Jigsaw shit is this?" Bullock grumbled to Gordon as they eyed one another. "This place is a fucking maze."
"One of these doors had to do be it. Approaching the one to the left, he assumed the breach position he had taken up before. Bullock stood in front of the door with his gun at the ready, he tried the door and found it refused to budge. Trying harder only caused the handle to break away. They shared a look of confusion before both looked at the other door behind them. Gordon moved beside it and aimed to repeat his actions. This time, the handle twisted, but any attempt to push open the door was met with resistance.
Gordon moved in front of the door now, pistol gripped in one hand as he took a step back, taking in a deep breath for his raising his foot and kicking at the door. The door swung open, Gordon never felt his feet touch solid ground, with the door swung open he saw nothing but a dark pit, his heart racing as he felt himself carried by momentum. It was only stopped by Bullock's grip around his arm, the man pulling as hard as he could so that the pair could tumble back.
"Fuck that," Bullock muttered, pulling himself up and grabbing his shotgun. "You good?"
"Never better, Harv." Gordon shook his head, now he could see why Bullock loved to be sarcastic in times like this. "I thought that was it for me…."
"Too shitty an ending for you, Jim." His partner mused as he extended an arm for him to use to pull himself up. "Nah, we deserve to die in our own beds, old or some shit like that."
The last door was clearly the only real one. Regardless, they repeated the same breach. This time, when he looked to Bullock's face, he saw clear confusion etched across it as he lowered his gun. Gordon peered through, being met with the sight of a brown and cramped room. Either wall was decorated in strange narrow tubes like gun barrels. A door on the opposite side of the room seemed like the only way to go. Cautious, Gordon stepped forward, turning back as a loud bang came from behind them. The door had slammed shut behind them, a metal sheet over the door revealed the wood outside been nothing but a disguise.
Immediately, they moved for it. It was futile even trying, but fear overtook the pair of detectives.
"Detectives. I'm so glad you could finally find me." Riddler's voice bounced around the room. It took Gordon a moment to locate the speaker in the corner of the room, but soon, he focused on the next door. No doubt the wood was another disguise. He tried it all the same and found the next handle didn't budge.
"Riddler?" Gordon replied. "What the hell is all this?"
"This is my slaughterhouse, Detective Gordon, for all the little piggies." A sinister undertone to his voice was mixed with cheery optimism. "A shame only a few would be brave enough to step inside. It's almost as if they are afraid of their Big Bad Wolf."
"We ain't playing around Riddler, you sick fuck!" Bullock erupted, clear anger washing over his face. "Are you going to come out here or are you too much of a fucking chicken?"
"Ah, such bravado from the man who waves the shotgun around as if he isn't surrounded over thirty…"
Gordon took a moment to glance around, all those barrels sticking out of the wall….They were in one of his traps now, one of his games. The thought of all his victims flashed to mind, what was stopping them from being the next set of ones. "What game is it, A riddle?"
"It seems you are the brains of this little operation, aren't you James?" You two are going to answer a few riddles. If you answer me correctly, one of those guns aimed towards you doesn't blast you apart."
Gordon glanced around the room, each hollow barrel held a blackness that stared back at him. He felt his hands ball into fists so tight that the skin over his knuckles turned a gaunt white. He couldn't underestimate Riddler, he couldn't set him off. He just needed to guess right for his and Bullock's live. It was easier said than done, unfortunately.
"Go on…" Gordon tried to hide the tremor in his words. It was better to show a kind of bravery, even if it wasn't really real.
Bullock fell silent beside him, no doubt he had his own string of thoughts concerning the possibility of death. Like him, Bullock probably never expected this kind of end to his life, just like how they hadn't expected a lot of what had swept into Gotham these past few months. Vigilantes attacking criminals, a terrorist mastermind bent on destruction. So much had truly happened…
"I love eagerness. It really makes the death of prey far more enjoyable." Riddler told him. "So, let's begin. I am swine, I carry a gun, I solve crimes. What am I?"
That didn't make any sense. Swine meant pig right, carry a gun? He had to be making some kind of reference to cops? Crimes. Well, he had no idea what else it could be. Maybe a few seconds had passed. He couldn't wait too long to answer.
"Cop?"
Gordon found himself glancing at Bullock now. Color had left Bullock's face almost entirely. The thought of Riddler holding their lives in his hands frightened him more than he wanted to admit.
"Correct. Perhaps I misjudged your intelligence… another. I burrow deep into the earth. I betray her secrets. When I am found I am killed. What am I?"
These sounded specific to the GCPD. He had to be talking about an informant or a mole… it had to be a mole. Well, he guessed he would know if he was right or wrong by if he ended up with a hole blasted through him. Another long tense pause. Gordon tried not to stare at the various barrels, not wanting to stare his death head-on. The only other place he could look was the ground and he didn't want to show any kind of weakness in front of Riddler.
"Mole!" Gordon called out.
"Correct. One last question. How did it feel? I want to know. How did it feel to know I held your life in your hand?" Riddler abruptly asked. "Don't be shy. I just want an honest answer and you're free to leave this room."
Why the hell… after all this, Gordon didn't know what to say. If Riddler would even keep to his word then. All he knew was he just wanted to get out of this room.
"Afraid-"
"Fuckin' terrified. Now let us out."
A metal click caused the door to their right to opened itself to them, revealing their exit. Neither of them hesitated to move through it. The door slammed shut right after them, leaving them forced to descend a staircase.
"The fuck was that Jim. We almost just fucking died and he let us go!" It was hard to distinguish the relief from the fear in his voice.
"Guess he wants to mess with us like that… he's got more waiting for us."
Jim was positive this wasn't just it. The building was too big to contain just a handful of traps. Riddler's plan to confuse them with his plans had worked in some way. He could have died twice and been crippled once. Hopefully, Batman was somewhere in here, working his way through the maze but with better luck. At the bottom of the stairs, they found another corridor, shorter this time but ended just like all the others in a simple wooden door. They were cautious to approach this one next.
"There won't be any traps in the doors. It's all inside the rooms." Riddler's voice echoed down the hall again. Another speaker hidden somewhere. "Now hurry along to oblivion."
So they pushed on. Riddler wanted them inside traps that he could control. Somehow somewhere in his sick mind, he must have been desperate for that kind of power. Why else would he ask him what he had felt staring possible death in the face? It gave him some perverted sense of power.
They kept going through the doors, after this door they moved up a staircase that ended with another door, stepping through led them to a junction, the first door to their left opened with ease. That hesitation to move through became a hard habit to lose.
Maybe it had been a few minutes or maybe hours. Jim's feet were beginning to ache. At last, they pushed open a door and found something besides just another corridor. The room ahead of them was wide, but as long as any kind of corridor they had found previously. Another door on the opposite side of the wall. As they stepped towards it the door behind them shut itself, revealing the mechanisms that kept it shut.
"Quite a journey isn't it. Part of me wished you had taken a different route… you would have seen wonders. Maybe you would appreciate why I let you roam my world… so another test is in order. The walls are going to close in either side of you, crushing you into nothingness. Of course, if you can prove your worth then you'll be allowed to continue existing."
A metal whining faintly came from either side. It took Jim a moment to realize the walls were slowly beginning to push towards them. That fear rushing through him again as he looked towards the ceiling where ever that speaker was located. He had to start talking soon. He had to…
"I am the beginning of the end, as well as the end of time and space. I am essential to creation and I surround every place. What am I?" Riddler announced.
Not wanting to waste a moment, Jim immediately began to put his mind to use. Part of him wished he paid more attention in school, maybe this was some kind of poem or something.
Beginning of the end. End of time and space. Was it air or something more obvious…? He didn't want to risk an unsure answer. Even as he saw the walls getting closer and closer. He was sure now he could reach out and touch either wall…
"The letter E!" Bullock yelled out, drawing Jim's attention as he looked back to see the man with his shotgun raised as if the weapon could have held back the walls.
Jim found himself reaching out too, maybe it was some kind of desperation. It was futile really but he didn't want to accept this lying down. He pushed at the dense metal until his wrists ached and the walls pressed harder. The walls pressed hard on either side of the shotgun, the sound of the weapon cracking came just before the metal whining abruptly stopped and the walls against his hands remained where they were.
"Correct…" Riddler's disappointed voice signaled the walls to retreat. "I'll be seeing you sometime soon Detectives…"
The door ahead of them swung open, revealing yet another corridor.
"How'd you know that one?" Jim found himself asking Bullock as he watched Bullock move towards it.
"Lucky guess, Jim." His partner answered as they walked.
Gordon somehow found it in him to laugh, even as they continued to travel deeper into the heart of darkness.
Darkness.
Selina felt darkness even as she opened her eyes. The air tasted stale as she found herself unable to move. Her limits were reached as she stretched. She was in some kind of tight space. A shiver pulsed through her palm as she felt a plastic film against her bare hands, they had taken her claws. It all came back to her now, she was just in another trap….she remembered that feeling of muscle tension and then nothing as she lost control of her body.
What kind of trap was this supposed to be? Or maybe it was some kind of sick joke about cats and trash bags…knowing Riddler's sense of amusement, this would not be pleasant for her in the slightest. Muffled voices came out from outside, she tried to push out again and was met by elastic resistance, a hard boot responded with a kick to her lower back that made her arch in an uncomfortable position.
The talking died down, Selina kept her breathing to a minimum. She was in some kind of bag, if she had her claws, maybe she could have cut through it….she tried her bare nails, wincing as she found the joints in her fingers ache.
Not even that much pressure could she pierce through….. As she moved around, she felt something move in the bag with her, it brushing against her arm now. Eventually, with enough patting around, she found it. She ran her naked thumb along it until she felt the surface of a radio speaker, almost dropping it as it vibrated against her hand.
"Miss Falcone….you must be wondering where you are, so let me explain. I've had you placed inside an extremely durable plastic bag, you might be able to comprehend that as a very strong trash bag if your mind is as sharp as you claimed it to be. You are going to suffocate when I activate the suction and cause the bag to retract. It will be an extremely painful sensation and one, I hope, I will hear perfectly through this radio. Your time working for me has been rather unpleasant, so perhaps in death, you will be of better use to me. Perhaps…you'll even be one of my favorite souls."
"You can't fucking do this to me!" Selina screamed, not realizing she wasting precious air, even giving the big another test of its durability. Nothing.
There was a pregnant pause, she took a few seconds to shallowly breathe now, realizing how much oxygen she might have already spent. "I can. Don't worry, you're really nothing special. The amount of strays I've put down in that very same bag as you, I've lost count. Now, let me see you free."
Before she had time to really comprehend, Selina heard a hiss of air. Somewhere at her feet, she could feel the suction as the bag suddenly clung to her. When she opened her mouth to let out a gasp, she found the tasteless plastic cling to her lips, her face, and even to the dimensions of her helmeted head. Immediately, she felt her heart race. This was it. She could barely move, let alone simply just rock there as that radio now dug into her palm.
That choking dark was squeezing on her head now like a vice. Selina began trying to move her nails across the plastic, feeling pain shoot up her fingers as she tried to claw a hole. Her strength was waning and she had to force herself to keep dragging her fingers along, even when she felt the tips of her fingers become raw.
She couldn't die like this. She couldn't. The thought of that mixed with the burning feeling in her chest as his lungs were deprived of air made her eyes watery, not that she had much to see through those hot tears.
There would be no surrender. She had to come this far, not to die in some fucking trash bag. Her fingers began to grate against the material harder now, she was sure she had damaged something in her hand. So long as she got out, she really did not care what it took. Oxygen was running out, she could feel it, her throat tightening like she was about to vomit. No claws, no way out. Screaming and hyperventilating would only accelerate whatever this was supposed to be.
Unfortunately, the tight seal did nothing to mute that radio now pinned to her chest, vibrating against her as Riddler continued to speak. "The phrase "Cat got your tongue" seems so strangely ironic considering the situation you are in. I guess we know who has the cat's tongue now. Me."
The lack of air was making her head ache. She could feel as if her head was being pinched by something so strong that he imagined it could pop her head if it wanted to. She just wanted the pain to go. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Selina could see those beaches again, Holly running across them with the biggest smile on her face. She remembered the heat on her skin, the cool water she cut through as she swam.
All were foreign thoughts as her gagging reminded her of the current situation.
So, she kept pushing. That agony in her fingertips was becoming lighter now, more of a distant feeling that was growing fainter. It was almost like a relief that it was going. No, no. Letting go meant letting Riddler win. She couldn't. Selina tried to move her feet too, only managing the smallest of fiction between her boots. It did nothing but sap away at what strength she had.
With no light in sight, Selina could feel it becoming easier to slip away. She barely managed to keep up her fingers movement, her natural nails maybe could have been sharp enough. Selina couldn't see it and couldn't know for sure, but she wasn't going to stop until she got free or until she eventually fell asleep and never woke up. It came as a relief when she felt a numb finger poke through a hole. Cold air, but air regardless brushed across her skin. It felt like she had been deprived of air for years. Finally, a breakthrough.
She began wiggling it as hard as she could until she couldn't or else her finger fell off. Thankfully, the hole widened enough for another finger and soon, she was pushing a hand through. Selina could feel the adrenaline surging through her now, burning pain in her chest as the limits of her oxygen were reached. Just a few more seconds…
Using her forearm, she managed to widen the wound in the bag. She could feel the cold air on her arm now. Selina tried lifting and craning her neck, with enough struggle she pulled her head through and found herself staring up at one of Riddler's men. The masked man glanced to his fellow henchmen in confusion. She didn't hide her simple desire for air, taking in deep gasps as she managed to pull her other arm free, peeling the tight material down her hips next.
By the time she crawled free of the bag's constructive hold, she was the focus of all three men around her. She dropped her head as she felt herself gagging, unable to throw up as she lifted her drowsy head as her vision returned to her.
The room around them was a simple, unfinished gray room. A painting table behind the man ahead of her was the only real piece of furniture nearby. One man between and the table, one to the left and one to the right. When she got her breath back, she found all three sharing glances, rifles all by their sides as they seemed more confused than alert. They didn't expect her to still be kicking.
"What the fuck. Wasn't she supposed to die?" One of Riddler's men remarked. "Don't let her get up."
"Fuck if I know. You shoot her." Another voice insisted on her left.
There was enough time to move toward one of them. She chose the one straight ahead. Managing to push off the ground and run straight into him, Selina almost felt her legs give out under her as they hit the side of the table now. She had him dazed enough to grab him by his rifle strap and turn, preventing either of the two other thugs from getting a shot off on her.
It, unfortunately, allowed the thug in her grip enough time to recover. A fist slammed into her side and broke her hold on his rifle strap. She felt the table hit against her back. In one fluid motion, the thug grabbed her by the throat and slammed her back onto the table, pain spanning the length of her back as she let out a grunt of pain. She kicked out, feeling her heel hit the man's gut, winding him down enough to lurch over in pain. Selina pulled herself up, grabbing the rifle strap over the thug's shoulder, and managed to throw herself over him, landing on shaky feet as the man came with her.
She arched backward as the strap now pinned his rifle against his neck and made him only capable of letting out muffled grunts. The pain of her crouched position burned through her ankles. She resisted the pain to hold the man in place.
"Take the fucking shot!" The same thug as before yelled. Selina glanced opposite of him and found a man trying to steady his hand enough to fire.
She grabbed the man she was choking out and turned with him, letting go so that he rolled to the ground in front of the man aiming g at her. His surprise took his focus off long enough for her to get close enough to strike the man in the stomach too, pulling back her fist and swinging upward with it. It connected and set him back against the wall. If she had her claws, he would be out for the count, but he recovered and swung for her. She caught the glint of his pistol before it struck the side of her helmet.
Before she could catch a breath, she looked up and saw the last man she had yet to fight with. "Stay the fuck there."
Selina found the last man's rifle aimed right at her. The distance was too much for her to move through before he fired. She managed to raise her leg just fast enough for her heel to strike the barrel, sending the weapon right back into the man's face with an audio pop that she had to guess was the man's nose meeting the rifle stock. He ended up falling onto his ass.
She wanted to make sure he stayed down. Following him, Selina grabbed his collar and slammed those cold knuckles against the man's face, feeling them warm with the blood that splattered across them. She swung maybe too hard, the man fell back and she went with him. To be sure, she slammed her knee down on the man's gut. Part of her imagined the man as The Riddler.
Selina didn't care that it felt wrong. As far as she saw it, it was a well deserved moment of release. Climbing out of him, Selina almost completely fell flat on her face. Pushing herself off the ground after all that energy had faded from her; It must have been all that anger and frustration fueling her.
The man she had almost choked out earlier was staggering up too, hand fumbling for the rifle dangling off of his shoulder strap still. She turned to see him grab the rifle and he let off a burst of gunfire that severed the leg off that painting table, yet left her unarmed.
Rushing for him, she staggered forward. Anger swelled as she crashed into him, forcing that rifle up so that he fired off into the ceiling, the recoil passing through her numb hands as she felt the rifle vibrate. She struck out with her hand, numb fingertips scratching across the man's neck, forgetting her lack of claws as no blood spilled. Instead, she clenched her grip on his throat.
Trying to push harder, she swung her knee up into his gut. Each time, she felt her hamstring ache. After her last one, she felt the man's gun click empty. He managed to bring it down hard on her shoulder, breaking her grip on the weapon and allowing it to swipe right into the side of her head. The impact echoed, dazing her as she lost her grip and fell flat on her front again. She rolled over and saw the man standing over her, fumbling to replace the empty clip in his gun.
It gave her enough time to swing her leg up, wincing as it struck the man right into the groin; the pain produced from the extension of the muscles in her leg.
The man bent over, clutching his injury. His masked head made the perfect target. Selina sucked in a breath and forced her leg to swing up one more time. The man let out a gargled cry as the kick landed, he went slack and fell off to the side. That had to be it, right?
Her only objective now was to escape this room. Suffocation wasn't such an easy thing to brush off, it seemed. She was still out of breath now, after all that. The thought of having to face Riddler, even when she could barely breathe, let alone stop heaving, was nerve-wracking.
Again, she pulled herself to her feet, new pain in her shoulder now as she managed to stand up and steady herself. Reaching the door and leaning out on the door frame as she walked on the door handle, Selina pulled it open and carefully stepped out, trying to ignore the pain in the back of her legs. The corridor outside was far colder, now her gaps of breath were becoming small puffs of visible air. What the hell was all this for? The dark thought crossed her mind that maybe, just maybe, one of these many doors ahead of her was for storing bodies.
"You really do have nine lives, don't you?" Riddler announced through a speaker again. "You must be wondering what all these speakers are for?"
She found herself glancing at every identical door, each green one decorated with a golden handle. This was some deliberate shit to mess with her head. "W-Where are you?"
"Maybe I'm behind the door to your left, or maybe I'm behind the one to your right. I could even be that one at the end there….I imagine you might want to hurry if you don't want to freeze to death."
Whether that was a promise or some kind of warning, Selina focused on finding the right door, immediately grabbing the nearest door to her left, and trying the handle. It opened, but she found herself staring at a brick wall.
"Cold….maybe you'll get warmer on the next try." That chill was biting into her arms now, she tried keeping her mouth shut, but she could feel her nose already on the verge of running from the low temperature and her lips drying. She tried the next one.
"Cold." Riddler reminded her as she stared at another brick wall ahead.
She tried the nest one along, handle twisting and Selina pulling hard.
"Warm…" Riddler lied as she found yet another dead end. The chill was making the whole of her shiver now. A sleepy weight bore down her eyelids as she kept moving. Door after door was nothing but fakes, every door he kept whispering to her that she was growing warmer. It was some sick irony, considering how she could see how reddish and cold her hands had become.
She was still no closer to the end of the corridor, screw it. The last door had to be the right one. Pulling herself along, she felt the balls of her feet ache. What kind of sick hell hole was this place? Pits of needles, suffocating bag traps and now a room that was becoming so cold she could feel her nose running and her muscles aching. But, she bared through it, pushing on down the corridor until she came to that last door, practically using it for support as she heard the speakers crackle.
"Warm. Perhaps if you had tried the most obvious door first, you would not be suffering as much." Riddler chided her with a hint of annoyance.
Fumbling with the handle, she eventually got the door pried open, feeling a wave of heat strike her. It was almost enough to make her pass out from the sudden temperature change, but she pushed through. She found the corridor ahead of her dimly lit in green. Coming out from the cold made her heave, this time lurching over and grabbing the wall for support as she vomited.
"You're getting warmer, Miss Falcone." This time, the voice came from a speaker further down the corridor.
Selina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, remembering the absence of her gloves. Part of her assumed Riddler had taken them as some kind of weird souvenir. She would get those back and when she had them, she would make sure to leave him with something to remember her by. Until then, she would keep moving.
Trying to process Riddler's voice as more of a guide to finding him, then as some annoying sound in her ear. The fact that he was trying to goad her into finding him did not give her any happy thoughts about what she would find when she finally reached him.
Bruce loved old movies, even old books too after his mother taken up the habit of reading to him every night. Tonight, he should have been hearing more about Alice In Wonderland. Instead, tonight was a surprise movie night!
He never understood his parents desire to dress up for the movies, Bruce remembered the hours trying to get him to first put on a dress shirt. Sometimes, he didn't even know if the dressing up would make the film worth it.
But tonight they were seeing Zorro!
He played nice for that very reason and even sat still as Alfred prepared his attire and arranged it on his bed for him, dressed in record time too. He was more than ready to go. Naturally, he found his way to their room, pushing the door open to find his mother and father in the midst of talking. They were using words that were too big and too long for him to properly understand. The cheery expression across his mother's face was more than worth interrupting them for.
"All ready to go!"
Bruce looked up to his father, he was like a giant. A hand reached out and rustled his hair and a smile peeked from beneath a thick, bushy mustache. "I have to go and speak to Alfred, mainly concerning when we will be back for dinner. I'll wait for you two downstairs, don't take too long!"
His father moved past him, and soon his heavy footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and then he was gone.
"Your father told you have quite the interest in this Zorro character." His mother spoke, glancing away from her dresser mirror as she brushed her black hair. She looked pretty as always, Bruce didn't know how his mother always managed it. She went out there almost as much as father did, but onto the streets to help people, just like his father did in the hospital
"I…still like Alice In Wonderland."
"It's okay, Bruce. I don't see why this Zorro should be any different from Alice. They're both on adventures, aren't they?"
Bruce found himself smiling. He moved to the dresser and caught the glint of that pearl necklace that rested in the snug, black velvet cushioning. They were her most favorite piece of jewelry. Every time they had gone somewhere fancy, she always had them on. All he knew was that they were a gift to her from Father, an anniversary gift perhaps?
"Won't you wear those tonight?"
She followed his finger towards the open box on her dresser, a bemused smile on her lips as her chin came to rest atop her knuckles as she looked back at him. There were two blue oceans trapped inside gentle eyes that stared right into his soul, feeling them warm it. "Honey, we're only going to the movies. Pearls are for special nights."
"Couldn't we make it special?" Bruce pleaded.
There were a few seconds of thought passing through his mother's mind, he could see it in her eyes. Then, she grabbed them and held them up to the light. They sparkled so brightly.
"How could I ever say no to that face?" She placed those pearls around her neck and pushed the brush through her hair a few more times before she stood up and looked to Bruce. "Come on, your father will be waiting."
Bruce watched her go to the door, disappearing beyond it as he went to follow. Tonight would be the best night ever, with so much of the tasty candy and snacks that he always got when they arrived. Except, when he stepped forward, he couldn't move, not even a step. He looked down at himself and realized that he was frozen in place.
Then he realized that Mother and Father hadn't just gone out of the room. They were gone.
Batman slowly woke up, finding the first sense to be restored was touch. He could feel a soreness pass through him. Eventually, he could see his surroundings. Some kind of empty room, attempting to move his arms revealed to him their position above him, held in place by a coil of metal chain around his hands and wrists, connected to an overhead pipe that ran across the ceiling.
Looking around, he found himself wincing as several floodlights were aimed at him, giving him a spotlight of sorts until a door ahead of him creaked open. It cast in a new light briefly before it was removed by a loud slam. The person responsible stepped into the light too, dragging alongside him a chair. As he placed it a few feet in front of him and sat down, Batman immediately recognized the man.
"Batman…I've been waiting for this, for so long. You really have no idea." Riddler told him as he leaned forward. "I wanted you to see my mind. To show you that we're not so different. We're the same jagged reflection that appears in Gotham's mirror."
"We're nothing alike…." Batman managed, feeling the ache of his arms weigh on him now. "I'm not like you. I don't kill for the thrill of it."
"We are and you can't dismiss that so simply," Riddler shook his head, wagging his finger with a sense of authoritarian disappointment. "You and I are intellectuals, both of whom transcend the common idea of what can be considered the normal man. We operate without limit and without higher authority. But there one flaw, one that does keep us from being whole."
He was talking as if after everything they had been through, they could simply co-exist. As if the murders of all those people could be ignored like they were nothing. No, once he got free, there would be no talking, no listening, and no amounts of words that Riddler could say that would stop him from the justice he would face. Batman merely issued a frown, staring forward. "You think killing makes you better. That's the one reason we will never be like. I will never kill."
"So, you let the vermin rule the streets, let the more corrupt men take power over Gotham. Is that what you want for this city?"
"I want to save this city. Killing people will never make a difference. Look at what you've done to Gotham already, fear and chaos won't fix things."
"It's not about fixing things, it never has been. I think you've been misunderstanding me this entire time. It's not about fixing broken things, it's about freeing them from this existence. For others, it will be quick mercy, but men like Hill? Oh, they will suffer like the little piggies that they are." Riddler crossed one leg over the other as he stared up at him with an inquisitive look in his eyes.
"Do you think this will change me?" Batman asked then. "Seeing inside this place, all these traps, and all these bodies. Your so-called archive of insanity. What was it supposed to teach me?"
"That am I right and you are wrong, Batman. This place was made to show anyone who stepped inside that life is nothing but a walking shadow, an existence of nothing but agony and suffering."
"And you're still wrong, Riddler,"
That prompted Riddler to stand. He held out his hand to his left and a loyal henchman dressed similarly to him rushed over in a hurry with the cane, presenting it to him like it was some kind of royal scepter, even dropping to a knee for him. He snatched it out of his grip and approached him now, his face unreadable through that mask. Riddler didn't get too close before he swung the cane, Batman caught sight of the curved head that was made to resemble a question mark. He found himself flinching as the metal head connected with his ribs.
"There are so many lives that I have taken, so many souls that I've claimed!" Riddler swung again, striking the same spot. "What do you mean, you don't see it? Every single person I have taken here has never left it, driven to insanity by what they've seen. You aren't any different!"
Batman resisted the pain, even as he felt a breathlessness pass through his numbing side. Riddler had lost, that was how he had seen it. He wanted to break him and he couldn't. Eventually, Riddler gave up swinging, looking almost exhausted he stepped back. Batman was sure he had broken a rib or two. He managed to hide the pain as best he could.
No…you haven't won yet!" Riddler practically screamed, placing his hands on the side of the side cowl, as if he was a father to some child who couldn't get the point. "You're going to escape these chains and then you're going to hunt me down. Consider me the Count Zaroff to your mysterious passenger, the subject to our most dangerous game. You're going to have to kill me if you want to get to me, I even left you a gift. A fighting chance if you will. Catch me if you can, Batman."
Like that, he moved back out of the light, footsteps echoing out before the door creaked open and he could see Riddler and his men in the room follow him out, leaving Batman alone with his chains. He could feel that gift now among them, his arms had been too numb to really feel it before. One of his hands were gripped around something, no doubt if he wanted him to kill, then he would have given him a weapon to do so.
Never. He would never take a life. Riddler could not force him and he refused to even consider it. The pipe rattled as he moved, weakness there he could exploit. He looked up at his chains, layers around his hand, but just a single chain holding him up to that pipe. Batman tried bringing his arms down, only to be met with tension. He would have to climb and exploit the pipe's weakness directly.
He could climb it. Carefully, he braced himself and threw himself forward, legs swinging up and his boots clamped into the chain as a result. He stayed frozen there, part afraid his grip would falter. Batman sucked in a deep breath as he felt that pressure on his side, the pain realized now but suppressed as he managed to keep a good hold with his hands. He sucked in a breath before he pushed himself up, moving a foot before his boot clamped into the chain again.
Looking down, he saw himself just out of the reach of the floodlights now. Only a bit more and he would be high enough. One more push. The ache was spreading through his ankles and thighs now, blood rushing to his head as he tried to keep his head up. He looked up at the pipe, hearing it squeak. With enough of a drop, he could use the sudden weight to snap the pipe and free himself. The impact from the chain to the floor would hurt, but he would survive. He would have to deny that pain's existence until this was over. Until then, whatever it meant he had to do to escape this.
He let go, anticipating that sudden tension after several seconds of free fall. A moment after that tension soared through his arms, the pipe broke away with a metal shriek, and then a dull pain soared up his back as he felt the floor beneath him now. The chains weighed on his chest as he tried to move. He managed to lift his hands and he felt the chains begin to unravel around his wrists and hands, which was enough for him to pull apart. The chain caught the light reflecting off the side of the pistol that was bound around his hand; the other hand still wrapped in chains.
Batman couldn't stay there, he could hear them, faint noises growing closer and closer. He managed to use his chain-clad hand to push himself up, nothing broken but everything radiated with pain, pain that only fueled him into getting to his feet and moving for the door. That noise had got louder now. They were right outside the door. The vigilante pushed himself beside the door as it swung open, the first man moved in with a rifle, the second one only got just past the door before Batman slammed it on him, pinning him in place as he lashed out with the chain at the first man. His head jerked back as the chain whipped him in his masked face.
He released his pressure on the door, allowing the man to push himself through, not expecting his rifle to get struck with the chain next, disturbing his aim enough for him to full up with a metal dressed fist that knocked him out against the wall. Using an elbow, Batman pushed the door open and moved through, his sense of direction had been altered. They must have moved him somewhere else in the building, he would have to find his way by what direction he found Riddler's men coming from.
Thankfully, they revealed the way themselves. The door at the end of the hallway ahead of him burst open. No guns, only bats and crowbars. Riddler wanted a fair fight it seemed as the three men rushed toward him. Eying the bulb above him, Batman smirked as he flicked the excess chain around his wrist into it, shattering the bulb and dimming the room, an extra benefit the sudden flinch in their step. They were scared.
The gun wrapped to his hand was a downside, even attempting to use that hand could cause the gun to fire and he wouldn't allow the slightest possibility of that even happening. They rushed him all at once, he only managed to get one swing out that struck one man's face before the solid wooden body of a baseball bat smashed into the top of his head. Batman managed to separate the group, an elbow driving the one to his furthest left into the wall beside them. He managed to strike him in the jaw with his chain clad knuckles, the man's head jerking aside. Whether that had put him out of the fight, Batman didn't know.
He was grabbed and yanked back by the cape. Elbowing back, he found one man's torso but failed to turn quick enough to his right to prevent the remains of that baseball bat from striking him across the face. The cowl could only protect so much. He found himself hissing through clenched teeth as his vision destabilized into a blur. He managed to swing his chain-wrapped arm back and knock the man who struck him with the bat backward too.
A kick against his lower back knocked Batman forward, the soreness temporarily overwhelming him enough that he tumbled onto his hands and knees. He lifted his head to see that man he pinned to the wall first, grabbing his crowbar off the floor and aiming to bring it down on his head. He managed to throw his gauntlet up to block it, hearing the metal blades vibrate as the crowbar struck. Batman managed to bring his left arm across himself hard enough to pull the crowbar out of his grip, it falling away with a clang.
That wasn't enough to stop the now unarmed man, a kick to the chest sent him back into the path of several more kicks. He felt pinned there as those boosts spiked off various areas of pain across his body. When they began to tire, he acted out this retaliation. One lazy boot planted itself on his shoulder and took retract. Batman grabbed his chain-wrapped hand and held it there as he threw himself to his left, pulling his balance out from under him. That disturbed the others and he didn't stop them from attempting to kick him, even as he turned as leaped on the downed man,
What energy he had went into making his hurt as they landed. The man's hands tried to grab at his throat, but after another hard strike, they lost their grip and slid down his chest instead. He managed to push himself back to his feet, pushing out with his arm to get the man attacking him from the right, hearing the man grunt as he fell back into the wall. This allowed him to turn and punch the man without any interference.
A punch jerked the man's head back against the brickwork, he groaned but still tried to wrestle control of the situation back from him. Before his next swing could hit, he was pulled back by a hand pulling at his cape. Batman resisted the pull long enough to throw his head forward, feeling the impact of his forehead ruptured the man's nose. The vigilante stopped resisting and leaned back into the pull, surprising the man by pinning him to the opposite wall with his weight. The man's hands tried to loop around him and hold him, but Batman continued to push him back, slamming the man into the brickwork until his grip on him loosened.
He had been delaying him long enough for his friend to recover. As the man slid down the wall behind him, his friend was wiping his bloody nose and gasping for breath now. Soon, he was staggering towards him, throwing an off-timed punch that he evaded. Grabbing a hold of the man's waist, Batman rushed forward and slammed the man back into the wall. The hard thud of the man's back against the wall seemed to imply that he was beaten.
Stepping over the groaning bodies, Batman found himself keeping one hand on the wall beside him. Looking to his left hand, he still saw that pistol strapped there. It was like a burning sensation, that weapon in his hand. Whenever he found the nearest sharp object he would remove it. Approaching the door, he pushed off the wall and went to reach for the door handle to the next room. The wooden door swung open in his face, knocking him back off of his feet. As he sat himself up, he found himself catching the glint of a machete as it was raised above the man's head.
He acted fast and swung out with the chain. The metal ensnared the man's throat and with a hard pull brought his falling face forward, right into Batman's raised knee. His machete was discarded in the sudden momentum. As he kicked the man off and pulled himself up, Batman was met by several slashes of a knife. Raising his hand only served to decorate his gloved hand and wrist with several more cuts, albeit now as shallow as the wounds on his palms.
After the third or maybe fourth slide against his hand, he felt his fingers twitching on that trigger they had forced against. The tape was being hacked through by the man's knife. Soon enough, when he punched the man away, he could begin to carefully pry his finger out of the trigger loop, and using what fingers could reach through the chains of his other hands, he managed to tear away the remaining tape, letting the gun fall to the ground.
With both hands freed, Batman clenched his bleeding fist and drove it into the man's gut, watching the air explode out of his mouth. Attempting to drive the knife up into his chest returned, Batman managed to catch it and hold it in place, his hold shaky as he felt the presence of a third man, barely able to duck in time to evade the arch of a hammer from swinging again, a jab aimed upward at his chin. This forced the man to stumble back.
He was struck by the fist and Batman felt himself slam back into the ground again, before the man could bring his boot down on him, Batman lashed out and grabbed his boot and pushed it up, causing the man to lose his balance and fall back.
Still the only one standing, Batman pulled himself up and turned towards the man with the hammer in time to evade the hammer that tried to bring down his head, moving to the right of it and twisting inward with a chain-laced strike to the man's ribs. Batman tried to bring the hammer down him, but his wrist blocked this, allowing him to strike the man in the same spot again and again.
The man brought his head down for a head butt. It worked to daze him again, even dissolved his block on his hammer. As he recovered, he managed to throw himself back as the man brought his hammer down again, missing him and instead leaving a crack in the floorboards between them. As he pulled his hammer and himself back, Batman lashed out with a kick, boot whipping the man's head back, following up with another strike for the man's face.
He hit the wall and didn't make any effort to get back up. Batman found himself stumbling back, trying to take a deep breath as the pain continued to surge through him. The man he had entangled with his chain earlier was pulling himself up the wall, sluggishly reaching for the machete he had dropped previously. As he grabbed it and turned, Batman struck out with a kick to the stomach this time.
The man crashed into the door and broke off its hinges. This revealed the next hallway ahead. He managed to move over the man's body, gripping the bare door frame as he pulled himself along, finding the wall and leaning on it as he moved.
This one was different, old television placed atop of wooden shelves. As he walked the screens turned from empty static to different camera footage, each played a different perspective. He could make out two men moving through a hallway, the quality not exactly high definition, but from the screen, he could make out the two men as Detective Gordon and Detective Bullock. They must have managed to follow the chase here. Riddler really was trapped.
Maybe they had yet to run into any of Riddler's traps or even had been lucky in getting through them. The cameras gave no reliability to their location, the only one who knew was The Riddler himself...
"Impressive. You showed me that you wouldn't kill, no matter the immediate cost. But, you know it doesn't matter. Someone once told me that time was a flat circle, you'll do this again and again. I'll be wearing different souls. I'll be the one constant in your life that you will never be able to be rid of. The one who wears the mask, the one that kills because that is the only desire I have, the one who will make Gotham more afraid than either of us ever could.
As he pushed himself past, Batman found himself staring at another screen. Selina was moving down her own corridor, the way she was leaning against the wall didn't inspire confidence. He had no idea what other kinds of traps he had here.
"They're all gathering for the finale. Pawns in a game they never knew they were playing. Moving to the final checkmate. All doors lead to me, all lives end with me, all good men fear me." There was a pause. "What am I?"
"A monster" Was all that he could muster as he kept moving on down the hallway. "You're a monster."
There was a loud roar of laughter before Riddler replied. "No, no. I'm so much more. Follow the doors, Batman. They will lead you to me."
He had no other choice really. Weakened by the fighting and exhausted by the night, Batman had to push on. He had to make sure Riddler could never harm another living soul again. Only after this evil was extinguished could he rest and Bruce Wayne be allowed to reemerge.
It was about time Riddler got beat at his little game, once and for all.
