Chapter two
Sweat poured down his face and neck, trickling down his back and plastering his auburn hair to his forehead.
He couldn't keep this up all night.
Carrying a solid gold carving of the crucifixion in a rucksack and running for your life over rooftops could really take it out of a guy…
Those sirens weren't getting any further away, either.
Over the past hour, police vans had been slowly closing in, trying to form a circle around the escaping villain.
They had cut him off three quarters of the way.
The riddler felt himself begin to hyperventilate as the suffocating pressure on his chest grew worse with the passing minutes.
The only way he could run now was to the west,where the city was denser, towards the dockyards.
If he could reach there, he could find shelter. He knew a few people who owed favours.
It was only one more mile's run.
Switching directions, he forced his legs to keep running.
His breathing was short and sharp, each inhale not really filling his lungs.
He was so very tired.
He heard shouts from below.
SHIT.
The pigs were closer than he had expected.
The Riddler grimaced.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
You'll be fine.
Gunshots sounded in the not-so-far-distance.
He continued his desperate sprint for the horizon, growing larger as he covered distance with his long legs.
Not too long after the first, a second volley of gunfire sounded, much, MUCH closer than before.
Just point five of a mile, Eddie! Almost there!
So close…
The Villain allowed a smile to creep along his face.
He could practically smell it.
The smile stayed frozen on his face for a few seconds as white hot, stinging pain pierced his shoulder, accompanied a second later by the crack of gunfire.
They had him.
He cried out as more bullets ripped through his flesh, hardly giving him time to draw breath as he fell mid-sprint, crashing with shattering force into the concrete rooftop.
Everywhere hurt.
He found himself grateful for the padding of the rucksack.
No point anymore….he was down. No point trying to get up again.
He watched in horrified fascination as his green suit suddenly blossomed dark red.
Why was it so cold?
He went completely limp, exhausted.
His vision swam dizzyingly.
He had to get up. If he stayed here, he was pretty much screwed.
It would take the police about half an hour to find him. By that time he could have bled to death.
Lying face-down, Edward considered his options.
Certain death…or…out of the corner of his eye, he glared at the manor house that interrupted the low skyline.
Or Bruce Wayne.
He groaned.
Bruce Wayne, the rich kid, with his private jets and PERSONAL medical centre.
He mulled it over for a second.
Fuck it, why not.
He began to crawl, edging his way to the fire exit stairs of the building, leaving a warm trail of blood.
It was going to be a long night.