When I heard of the Batman, I thought it was a joke.
I mean, surely it had to be one, right? A crime fighting vigilante dressed in a giant bat outfit. It was something straight out of a comic book, yet the press treated like it was real. Perhaps it was just the latest gossip in town, and that's why they were clinging onto it. It was an interesting story for sure, but I didn't see how it was any more interesting than whatever I was doing.
I had a theory that it could be a conspiracy made by the GCPD to instill fear into the criminals. A way to get them to stop doing the act before the act even happens. Well, if that was the case, it wasn't doing a very good job. Crime rates were at an all time high, and this Batman figure wasn't doing any work to help it go down.
Either way, real or fake, it didn't matter to me in the slightest. There was no way that I could be caught, or any of my actions traced back to me. So, sitting in a dark room in an abandoned building that was placed on the outskirts of Gotham, I watched as people failed one by one to solve the riddles I had planned for them.
These riddles were for my pleasure. I didn't desire anything petty such as money or fame. Money was needed, but it was not my goal. It was purely a bi-product of what I had going on. Hiring muscle and creating these puzzles unfortunately cost me a lot. But once I had the funding, I could do whatever I desired. Gotham was my sandbox, and I was the only kid playing in it.
What was I talking about? Ah, yes. Money. I made it. Hijack any truck or vehicle with riches in it, let the goons take their share, and then the rest were sent to a safe place for me to pick up at a future date. Then, the drivers were knocked out and sent to a room where I had placed puzzles and riddles for them to solve. This was the part that actually mattered. I watched from the safety of my base through the security cameras I had set up, broadcasting to me each and every one of their foolish mistakes. Nobody has been able to solve all of my puzzles, and when they inevitably failed, my room would let out a powerful gas that would knock anyone out instantly. Afterwards I just threw them out back into the streets.
Kill them? Why would I? Murder was disgusting, and I was not like those petty criminals. I wanted to have some fun, not to have blood on my hands.
I just wanted an intellectual equal. Nobody has gotten close, but some have been able to solve a few more riddles than others. That's when I gave them my favorite question. It always stumped them. Not a single person that I have ever met has been able to solve it. And it was always pleasing. It was pleasing to watch ordinary men suffocate when the answer was just at the tip of their cortex, yet too far away to grasp it. It pained them. To be unable to answer what seemed like such a simple question.
Again, I don't do this for the money. Or the fame. Although, it does somewhat annoy me whenever the news doesn't mention me or when the police fail to trace this all back to me. Imbeciles, all of them. Every goon and petty criminal getting on the news for their dimwitted crimes, while I stay in the backgrounds and stay unnoticed.
Completely unnoticed.
A red buzzer went off in the corner of my desk, alerting me that an intruder was in the building.
I was caught off guard. This has never happened. I had planned for it, of course, but in the moment it all happened so quickly.
I saw as a grim shadow made it past through my rooms of puzzles faster than anyone has ever done before.
I watched through the cameras, the shadow flying past the rooms and opening every door.
I heard some keys being pressed without a sense of hesitation, punching in the answer to my favorite riddle.
I turned to see the final door open, and I screamed in terror as the night itself overwhelmed me.
It's been weeks since that happened.
I have been exposed to the public and sentenced to Arkham Asylum.
There was nothing that could anger me more than what happened in that building I called a secret base.
He went through all my traps. He saw straight through all my tricks. How could this be? There was no way that I miscalculated…But that could only mean…
No, nobody was smarter than me. I didn't want anyone smarter than me. I was the best. The superior mind. The greatest of them all. And everyone…no. No one knew it.
After Batman captured me I was given some time for the press to conduct an interview.
Dozens of reporters all clammering for an answer, a word out of my mouth.
What did they call me?
Ah yes. The greatest criminal mind of Gotham.
Those fools have given that title too easily.
It seems that I have made a slight misjudgement there.
The issue was not that nobody knew me, it was that I didn't let anyone know who I was. What I was capable of.
When I get out of here, and that's a 'when' not a 'if', when I get out of here I will let the entirety of Gotham know who is truly the smartest man in this city.
Especially Batman.
I'll be waiting for you next time, Batman.
