Tuesday, August 5, 2008 – 2:27am – 1480 E Russ Way, Apartment 91; Gotham City, New Jersey

The news quietly continued on about the evening's terror behind him, repeating its top story every half hour on the dot. The room was a disaster—or as much of a disaster it could be with the small amount of possessions that he owned. Clothes were scattered with crumbled up balls of paper peeking out from underneath shirts. The kitchen of the tiny studio was bad enough to have a nastier-than-normal smell emitting from the clogged sink, the overflowing trash can, or the dozens of left-over boxes and plastic wrappers that cluttered the counter space. And for the eight months he'd been back in Gotham, he still had yet to fully unpack. Piles of books lined one of the walls messily, waiting for a bookcase to house them. Between some of the worn novels and textbooks were loose pieces of paper, ranging from his thesis notes to his college degree certificates—bachelor's, master's, PhD's, and the additional summa cum lade honors mixed in. Applications of various forms were in a messy pile on top of the nearest stack, with the Wayne Enterprises recognizable logo on top. In front of him, however, was where his focus was—on the wall cluttered from floor to ceiling with newspaper clippings, printed out pictures and articles. He stood stubbornly in front of it, his shadow cast tall on the wall, not caring about whatever might be under his feet.

He had narrowed down his suspects, determined to figure out who exactly he was tonight. After tonight, everything would change. If the Batman wasn't dead, there was little chance he'd be showing his face again for a while.

The clues would end.

The Batman was rich, or had a rich beneficiary. That narrowed it down to the high class of Gotham and their closest friends.

The Batman was intelligent, well learned. A college degree probably existed in the man's background. Or at least outstanding grades in school—if the man even went.

The Batman was well learned in martial arts. He either took extensive lessons for all of his life or endured a crash course over a matter of years.

The Batman was over six foot, well built, and a younger man. For all the training required, he must be someone extremely fit and in their thirties.

Harvey Dent had been a very viable candidate—until the press conference incident a couple of days before. Other candidates such as Pierce Litman and Ben Adams were married or spent way too much time at their offices—at all hours of the day.

Ultimately his wall left him with one face, a face he was currently drawing a dark cowl over.

The man had disappeared for seven years. It was rumored that he was on a yacht in the Mediterranean, but the truth was he could've been anywhere. He was tall, handsome, about to turn 32, and a very eligible bachelor who tended to oversleep his business meetings and stroll into the office around 3 in the afternoon. He had no bachelor's degree, but his grades while he jumped colleges proved him intelligent enough. And he was Gotham's Prince, one of the richest men in the world.

And recent events only further confirmed it. He was in the Pacific entertaining a Russian ballet troupe when Batman kidnapped Lau from Hong Kong. Both he and Harvey Dent went missing at the crashed fundraiser last week. He was present at an 8am press conference to reveal Batman's identity. He wrecked his Lamborghini protecting Coleman Reese. And Reese himself knew who the Batman was—a discovery he made while working at Wayne Enterprises.

Edward sat back, admiring the dark Sharpie that engulfed the playboy's printed face, leaving only his eyes and strong chin. The puzzle pieces fit. It all made sense. The answer to the greatest riddle of them all.

Riddle me this, riddle me that, who exactly is the big, bad Bat?

Tuesday, August 5, 2008 – 9:10am – Wayne Tower; Gotham City, New Jersey

"Hello, I'm here to see Mr. Reese."

The lovely secretary didn't even bother to glance up, "All statements from Mr. Reese about yesterday's events have already been released—"

"I'm not a reporter," Edward stated, finally earning her attention.

She glanced up, did a double take, and instantly the computer in front of her lost her full attention. "Do you have an appointment with him?"

"No, but my name is Edward Nashton. We're both at the same law firm and I have an urgent—and private matter to discuss with him," he lied with a serious smile.

Now concern clouded her face. "I do apologize, however he's not supposed to be in today—"

"However he is actually here, so I do need to actually see him," he finished for her, leaning menacingly over her desk for emphasis. He'd seen the weasel stroll right in hardly fifteen minutes prior, there was no hiding from him.

The secretary offered an unsure smile as she hesitantly reached for her phone located right where Edward was leaning over, his sudden intrusion not only making her nervous but if he was who he said he was, he was important enough to be seen. "Just a moment, Mr. Nashton."

Satisfied, he straightened out and eavesdropped on the conversation over the phone.

"Yes, Mr. Fox? I have a guest here for Mr. Reese… Yes, I know, but he says it's urgent." Ah, so the cover up that Reese wasn't here wasn't due to the woman's poor observational skills, it was due to an architect. CEO Lucius Fox was in on the Batman scheme and was covering up Wayne's tracks—well he would have to be for Wayne to burn through his carefully watched trust-fund like it was firewood. Hell, probably most of the fancy equipment the Batman used came from this very building.

"Yes, of course," the woman finished her conversation and gently set down the phone back in its place. "Mr. Reese is currently in a meeting, he'll be out in a moment. You're welcome to take a seat." She eyed him for a moment while Edward gladly remained standing before returning to her work.

Barely a few minutes passed before Edward wanted to further test his theory—he simply couldn't help it, and the waiting wasn't helping matters. "Miss…?"

"Henderson. Jessica Henderson," she replied smoothly, just barely glancing up from her typing.

"Jessica," Edward expertly released, earning her full attention. "I was curious if Mr. Wayne was in today as well."

At this her expression faltered, her typing halted. "I apologize, but you are here to see Mr. Reese and not Mr. Wayne, correct?" She was well hired.

"Yes, however it is the lingering details of the LSI Holdings deal that I am here to discuss with my associate and if Mr. Wayne is present, it would prevent both Mr. Reese and myself to have another meeting with him. After all, I'm sure he is a very busy man." Cake walk.

Hesitation, but finally, as her attention returned to the computer before her, "Mr. Wayne is not expected in today, but Mr. Fox is more involved with the LSI Holdings deal if you'd like to speak with him."

Edward grinned gleefully, unable to contain himself. "I suppose Mr. Fox will do," he managed to mutter nonchalantly before throwing in a thank you—he was far too excited to keep up the boring lawyer act. He didn't even care about her staring at him—swooning, if you may, at the sudden smile he expressed. Well, half swooning, half wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

When Reese finally, and very hesitantly, opened the doors to the lobby, it took everything in Edward not to jump up and demand the answers from him right then and there. It also took more than everything to deadpan instead of glare at Fox who emerged right behind him, acting as the weasel's personal bodyguard.

"Uh…w-who are you?" Reese nearly squeaked, trying too hard to keep his composure and very clearly still nervous of strangers after yesterday. It was a miracle the man even made it out of the house today—unless he figured his house might be targeted, too.

What is it that in order to possess it you must first let it possess you and in order to conquer it you must first set it free?

"I'm Edward, Coleman. From the firm? I've been sent here to discuss some lingering details regarding that LSI Holdings merger," Edward said directly and extra convincingly to Reese.

"That merger has been put on hold, Mr. …?" Fox dared to interrupt.

"Nashton. And I understand that, which is why I'm here. Now if you'll excuse us," he finally stated, taking control and approaching the timid mouse next to Fox, "We need to discuss this privately."

Fox was smart—hell, he could probably actually keep up in a full intellectual conversation with Edward himself—and wasn't buying it. "I hope you can make this quick, Mr. Nashton. Mr. Reese and I were in the middle of some paperwork."

Paperwork? The LSI Holdings deal was finished. There was no paperwork left to be done. Unless—of course. Fox was keeping Reese close since he knew the company secret. Reese was probably filling out permanent employee paperwork. Hm. Maybe they'd finally get around to hiring Edward now that he, too, knew the big secret.

"Oh, it should be," Edward replied casually, leading Reese toward the elevator. "Of course that depends entirely on Mr. Reese" he finished under his breath.

"Mr., uh, Nashton? It is Nashton, right-?" Reese managed while they waited for the elevator.

"Yes," Edward snapped just as the doors slid open to reveal the empty, open compartment.

Slightly thrown, Reese shot a glance back at Fox, who was watching them a little too carefully for Edward's comfort. At least he wasn't planning on killing the weasel or anything; he just wanted a little information. "I'm afraid I don't—" Finally the elevator doors slid shut, and as soon as the compartment managed to drop a couple of feet, Edward lashed out and hit the emergency stop button before withdrawing his collapsible cane from the inside of his jacket, snapping it to its full length with a flick of his wrist, and smashing the tiny camera and mic bulb with it—all within mere seconds.

Reese had barely gotten a sound out before the cane was suddenly pinning him against the wall, the wood pressing into his neck. "Who-?" he whispered, his frozen Adams apple unable to utter much else.

"I have a riddle for you, Coleman. One that I'm sure you know the answer to." Edward paused, locking eyes with the quivering man. He could only imagine the therapy Reese was about to gladly endure over the next twenty years for this week's events—all of which, of course, would be paid for by Wayne Enterprises. "Who is Batman?"

Reese opened his mouth to speak, but a different voice filled the small and shiny compartment. "Is everyone okay in there? If you can, pick up the phone. We have help on the way."

Edward snarled. He knew that he wouldn't have long, but the seconds were ticking by a little too quickly for him.

This thing all things devours; birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays kings, ruins towns, and beats the high mountain down.

"Reese," Edward calmly demanded, causing the hope in Reese's eyes to dwindle down as he glanced away from the speaker. "I would hate for their efforts to reach you so quickly all be for nothing."

"Ican'tsay-!" the smaller man yelped, wincing as the cane pressed harder in frustration. "You don't understand! I—I owe him! A-And he could—"

"Yes, yes. I know how he saved your life by wrecking his Lamborghini," Edward interrupted, his free fingers rubbing his brow in annoyance.

Reese's hazel eyes widened. "But—"

"Just give me a name, Coleman," the taller man whispered, leaning in close. "A simple name."

"W-Wayne—M-Mr. W-Wa—"

His cane suddenly released Reese, allowing the poor man to gasp for air while he rubbed his aching throat. Instead, two hands forced the stick between the elevator doors and one strong push forced them open. Just a couple feet above him, he could hear Fox's deep, distinct voice through the upper floor's shut doors. "How long until they get here, Jessica?" Her shouting in reply was too muffled, too far away to hear. Not to mention Edward was busy prying open the floor below's doors the same way.

"You know," Edward commented thoughtfully over his shoulder as he knelt down, ready to hop down the couple of feet to the floor below. "Your name sounds like 'mysteries.' I rather like that alias." By the time Reese stopped coughing hard enough to stand up straight, Edward was already strolling down the hallway towards the other set of elevators on the other side of the building, retracting his cane and replacing it within his jacket without missing a step or losing his wide grin.

Why did the weasel cross the road twice?

Edward was still gleeful when he strolled right out the front, revolving doors of Wayne Tower. Security was probably just now getting word from their counterparts dozens of floors above them of a description of a young and dangerous man. The thought made him smile all the more.

Screw the PhD's, screw all the pointless riddles stuck in his head—he had figured out who the Batman was. He was the smartest man in the world—

"Get in."

The deep voice startled Edward and his heart even skipped a beat when he glanced to the source to find a sleek town car stopped along the curb next to him. It was impossible. Wayne was too busy recovering—The man's hair was auburn, not brunette. And even with the pointless sunglasses on a cloudy day obscuring his eyes, that certainly was not the playboy that the tabloids gushed on and on about. But he did kinda look like Gotham's Prince. Kinda.

"My mother always told me not to accept rides from strangers," Edward joked. But his smile faded when the muzzle of a very prestigious hand gun as pointed at him from just over the edge of the window.

"You'll soon find out we're far from strangers," Thomas Elliot smiled as Edward Nygma slid into the car.

A/N: Answers to the riddles:

Bruce Wayne (snicker)

Fear

Time

He was a double crosser.