Chapter Six.
Author's Note: Riddler fans, rejoice. I'm rather proud of this chapter, so don't hesitate to lavish praise and/or criticism on it.
Edward Nashton – or, as he had styled himself, Nigma – stalked down darkened corridor, illuminated only by the bright white strip lighting that hung over head, giving Nashton's already pallid complexion an unhealthy tint. The Machiavellian image he no doubt intended to display was hampered somewhat by a troublesome limp, barely compensated for by the heavy looking cane that the Riddler found himself leaning on with every step.
"Nice power walkin' boss." Chuckled one of two burly henchmen at his side.
The Riddler stopped. Blinked. Tapped the man's chest.
"Oh yeah? Well, at least I can walk."
"Whassat Bo-"
With a speed that one would not expect from a man of the Riddler's gangly frame, he pulled a pistol from within his jacket, aimed, and fired a hollow point through the henchman's kneecap.
Nashton started walking again before the man had time to register the ungodly pain he was in. His incoherent screams echoed through the hallway, as he writhed, clutching at his shattered kneecap.
"Just be glad I didn't send you to Crane." Nashton muttered.
With the remaining henchman in tow, he reached the corridor's end, and, moving past an open door, entered a room. A black room, with a black chair, and several black monitors. He sat.
"N-uh, Need anything boss?" Eager to please, was this one.
"If you speak my name, I vanish. What am I?"
"Uhh, I – uh, I dunno boss..."
He shot him. On bullet, right through the head. Messy, all over the carpet. He clicked his tongue, nervously. Settled deeper into his chair. Tried to relax.
"Silence."
The Riddler sighed. No heists, no jobs, no elaborate schemes. Leave that to Ivy and the Penguin and whoever else wanted to stake a claim to Gotham. He had to lie low. Had. To. Because Elliot is out there.
Hush was in Arkham the entire time, and now ohJesusGod he's out.
The plan worked – of course the plan worked –but now Hush is out there again.
So lie low.
The coin was resting on the chair's arm, which had been picked at and worried, and otherwise damaged.
"Whatever happened to Harvey Dent?" a horse whisper of a voice.
"Harv's dead, you need to stop using that name."
"What's the last thing Harvey Dent did, Two-Face."
"How the hell should I know, Bandages?"
There was a throaty chuckle, a nasty sound that spoke of a rage barely contained.
"So it wasn't Harvey that did for poor Victor Zsasz." Hush moved around the mismatched armchair that Two-Face had occupied, coming to a stop by a similar chair, which he perched on.
Two-Face reared his head in the Ex-Surgeon's direct. "The hell are you babbling about?" he snapped, eye bulging, moreso than usual.
"Nothing. Doesn't matter. What does matter is this: They're moving in tonight,"
"You're sure? Then we can – "
Hush cut in as Two-Face started up out of his chair, "Yes I'm sure, and yes you can. They'll be outside the GCPD and ready to let all hell break loose in, oh, five hours? But you need to remember the plan. Stick. To . It. Or there'll be hell to pay."
"That a threat, Tommy?" Two-Face snarled, his face livid and red. He leaned closer to the bandaged man, one hand creeping to the pistol at his hip.
"No." Hush smiled, his voice, as ever, like the soft rustle of sleep, "Just some sound advice."
Two-Face straightened up, features twisted into that savage mockery of a smile. "As if I need it, I've been dealing with the Bat since before you graduated from med-school." He turned on his heel and exited the room.
The coin was still resting on the chair's arm.
Beneath hi s mask of bandages, Hush's eyebrows arched. He'd never expected this part of the plan to work, could it be that Two-Face's special treatment was working?
He hadn't truly expected such results from the Arkham hack.
He might just have to give the good Doctor some credit.