"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would indulge me for just a moment longer please riddle me this: what's black and white and red all over? It's a riddle so easy, even that zombie Solomon Grundy finds it breezy."
"I know I know, how about Penguin after I beat the ever-loving crap outta him?"
"How about you just tell us before I beat you black and blue, Riddler?"
Flashing his increasingly impatient audience an almost Cheshire cat grin, the self-proclaimed intellectual savior of the criminal underworld was almost giddy watching the more notable faces of criminal factions and organizations strain their collective brains trying to decipher his seemingly elementary riddle.
Dressed in a flamboyant green two-piece suit, he wore a floral green jacket contrasted by a purple tie with a question mask emblazoned on his left shoulder. Waist down, he wore black pants, green sneakers, as well as a green belt with a question mark-themed buckle. His light brown hair was slicked back, along with a pair of triangular purple-rimmed glasses that perfectly accentuated his naturally arrogant facial expression.
Towering above his criminal congregation on a makeshift auction stage, he was surrounded by a circle of opened crates, each one filled to the brim with illegal weapons and objects of superhuman power.
All around him, he faced a multitude of various personas of the criminal variety. On one side of the stage stood the Rogues of Central City: Captain Cold, Heat-Wave, and Boomerang. Individually they were career criminals wielding almost godlike technology but as a collective they were a force formidable enough to slow down even the fastest man alive.
The master of subzero headed the trio representing the faction, discerned easily by his clear blue parka and cold gun. His snow motif contrasted his partner in crime, Heat-Wave, who wore his standard fire resistant gray asbestos suit that covered him head to toe. On his shoulder holster, he carried his equally as dangerous handheld flamethrower. The third member, Boomerang, was the wild card of the group. Dressed in a navy blue trench coat with a bandolier of his specially-designed boomerangs strapped around his shirt, the Australian criminal straightened out his white scarf while lazily twirling around one of his boomerangs on one hand.
A gathering of representatives from criminal organizations and families filled out the middle section, with names ranging from Falcone and Bertinelli to Maroni and even Black Mask. They were flanked by hired help, mainly lesser-known supervillains like the Electrocutioner with his electrically charged gauntlets, Javelin the Olympic athlete turned mercenary with a deadly javelin-based arsenal, and Onyx, a katana-wielding female assassin-for-hire.
On the opposite side stood the main leadership of the infamous Metropolis criminal organization, Intergang. Bruno Mannheim, the stocky and heavyset leader, crossed his arms unimpressed while his lieutenant, a slender redheaded Caucasian woman by the name of Whisper O'Daire looked on with equal apathy.
"Hey Nygma, why don't you just get on with it, yeah? Some of us have places to loot and people to rob," the ever outspoken Boomerang complained in his thick Australian accent, eliciting murmurs of agreement from his Central City comrades.
"Yeah green man, you've been talking a whole lot but I'm not hearing anything I like. And if none of your bargain bin crap can't do what me, a pair of matches, and some booze can't do on a Friday night then you're just wasting our time. And I hate having my time wasted," Heat-Wave growled in his gruff voice, echoing a common sentiment amongst the Riddler's increasingly agitated audience.
"Mick may be an idiot, but he's got a nose for sniffing out B.S. And if you brought us here in the middle of Bat Country just to spout your big words at us, you're not gonna like how this ends," Captain Cold added ominously, gesturing at his holstered cold gun.
"Yeah!" Mick Rory nodded, until Snart's words fully sunk in. "Wait, what did you call-?"
"Patience, gentlemen. Patience. I know I can be a bit….superfluous, perhaps overzealous in my presentation but I can assure you that this next item will be more to your liking. Especially with your predilection towards weapons with long-range capabilities," the Riddler smiled, beads of nervous sweat beginning to form in his brow as he began fidgeting with the item behind his back.
"Mate, I don't even know half of what you just said. Can ya just get on with it?" Boomerang sighed, exasperated.
"Well since none of you are privy to answering my riddle, I suppose I'll just skip to my pièce de résistance. You all remember the Royal Flush Gang, right?"
"Bunch of rich pricks who like to roleplay as playing cards? Yeah, I've had the misfortune of hiring their services once," one of the lieutenants scoffed, rolling his eyes irritably.
"Once." Nygma flashed him a coy smile, before unveiling the prize possession of the crime family from behind his back and brandishing it before them.
It was the King's Scepter, a golden rod with ceremonial gems adorned around its crown jewel, an equally golden hook-shaped discharge scoop. Spanning about one and a half feet long, it was the ultimate symbol of status and power wielded by the patriarchal head of the Royal Flush Gang.
Riddler's smile immediately widened when he noticed the sudden shift in facial expressions amongst his audience, from bored and irritable to piqued and interested.
"Oooh. Shiny," Heat-Wave snorted dismissively, as Riddler continued to brandish his weapon.
"Yes, the Royal Flush Gang committed the ultimate cardinal sin: thinking they could outsmart the Riddler. But suffice to say, they saw the light soon enough and aptly regretted their mistake. Enough to leave me their prize possession, in fact," Riddler smiled, his eyes glistening sinisterly to imply a backstory far more gruesome than he was willing to let on.
"You see, this serendipitous scepter is not only decorative, perfect for display at wherever you beautiful people may dwell but its combative functions are quite extensive. Take for example its centerpiece, a trophy from their last break-in at the Hall of Justice. Powered by the stars, this 'cosmic rod' of sorts can discharge great bursts of solar energy capable of melting even the Man of Steel. And for those oh so pesky do-gooders who just won't get out of your way when you're trying to make an honest living, well…"
Lifting the scepter towards one of his crates, he punctuated his lingering sentence by merely fixing his bemused gaze on the wooden container. Almost immediately, a glowering golden aura illuminated the entirety of the crate, before propelling it upwards into the air as Riddler raised his forearm.
"Why resort to mortal weapons to get the job done when you can harness the power of the gods themselves? Anything you can think of, this rod can do and so much more. More than any of you can ever imagine," Riddler continued to boast, setting the crate back done once he saw the incredulous looks on most of his audience.
"I'll give all of you a moment amongst yourselves," he added, crossing his arms confidently at his audience who were now chattering amongst themselves excitedly in light of the Riddler's potential show-stealer.
"I say we take the shillelagh, beat up Riddler, then the rest of these fools. Then we celebrate with beer. Lots of beer!" Heat-Wave proposed, looking to his fellow criminals for camaraderie.
"We have a code, Mick," Snart sighed irritably, before eyeing some of the crates onstage with renewed interest. "Besides, if the other crap that Nygma's got is even half as good as that rod then we can finally take the Flash and that new kid down for good."
"Yeah, and I'm not itching to have Nygma sic his mates on us after they took down Royal Flush. Besides Mick, with this kind of hardware not even the Justice League can stop us from our next big score," Boomerang pointed out, a point that Rory begrudgingly conceded to.
However on the other side of the warehouse, the brain trust of Intergang was less than impressed with Riddler's display.
"Why are we even entertaining this fool, Bruno? Our partner's got tech far more advanced and useful than this hack, and he's been giving it to us for free," Whisper whispered angrily in her boss's ear.
"Yeah, alien tech. Don't know about you, but I'd rather have something I actually understand than take the word of some freak from another galaxy who claims he has weapons of the gods," Mannheim pointed out.
"Either way, this is wasting our time. These Central City losers may be buying what Nygma's selling, but I bet whatever that space freak has in his inventory far surpas-"
"O'Daire, I pay you for two reasons: to watch my back and look good doing it. Since when is questioning my executive decisions in your job description?" Mannheim suddenly snapped.
Whisper merely glowered at him resentfully, but predictably bit her tongue.
Seconds later, Riddler cleared his throat loudly to resume the auction process.
"Now, let's talk prices, shall we? I'm a fairly open-minded guy, but these suits aren't exactly cheap if you know what I mean," he smirked confidently, twirling around the scepter as the criminals deliberated amongst themselves for a moment longer before reaching a consensus.
One of the mobsters representing the Bertinelli family nodded at his colleagues before stepping forward to place the initial bid.
"$10,000," he stated firmly, an offer that would seem most generous to anyone but the egotistical auctioneer.
"Good start, but put an extra 0 or two at the end and I'd say you're getting closer to what I'm envisioning for this."
"How about $15,000 and my boys don't chain you up and drop you to the bottom of Gotham Harbor tonight?" one of Black Mask's enforcers growled impatiently.
"$20,000," Captain Cold said, glaring daringly at the other mobsters who met his inviting gaze.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your contributions while satisfactory leave something to be desired, if I may be so bold. I'm offering you all extensive protection against the entire Justice League and serving time at Belle Reve Penitentiary and in exchange I think you could all dig just a little deeper into your wallets," the green-garbed intellectual spouted over confidently.
"$25,000," one of the henchmen scoffed, crossing his arms expectantly.
"30,000," came another gruff voice.
"$50,000," Bruno finally spoke up, ignoring the annoyed look on his lieutenant's face as he placed his bid.
"Mr. Mannheim, despite your utterly erroneous epithet you are a beautiful, beautiful man," Riddler gleamed adoringly, his eyes already flashing dollar signs at this new prospect.
"Don't patronize me Nygma. These posers already have trouble robbing banks and stealing old ladies' purses as is. Intergang's operations need this kind of protection," Mannheim scoffed indignantly, crossing his arms as Whisper leered at the now irked congregation.
"So do the Rogues, haircut. See, while you were running your little bush league operation in Metropolis we were putting the fear of man in the fastest man alive. Even with that new brat of his, the Flash knows we've got his number and it's only a matter of time before we'll have him dead to rights, probably sooner with this hardware. So by my calculations I'd say we'd be doing all of you a favor. Besides, when's the last time you Intergang hacks have ever gotten a job done without needing Lex Luthor to bail you out?" Captain Cold shot back, opening the verbal floodgates between the two criminal factions.
"When's the last time you Central City knockoffs actually completed a job worthy of Lex Luthor's attention? You talk a big game Snart, but we both know why you carry around those ridiculous novelty toys. Fancy guns with no bullets in them," Whisper spat angrily.
"Nice one, love. But I'd wager my 'novelty toys' can get the job done alright. I'd be happy to demonstrate if you fancy a little target practice," Boomerang piped in, slowly peeling back his trenchcoat to reveal his arsenal of specialty boomerangs clipped against the fabric.
"Ladies and gentlemen please, we're all professionals here. There is no disputing each of your individual talents and prowess with your weaponry. But for the sake of this auction where the price is determined entirely by ego and one upmanship, what does this accomplish? Wait, on that note please continue," Riddler smiled, the irony of his words apparently lost on the two factions currently waging verbal war while the other crime families merely spectated with growing disinterest.
"First of all, Intergang doesn't work for the best. We are the best. And unlike you posers, we don't need no gimmicks to get the job done. And let's call a spade a spade, Leonard. You Rogues aren't even in our division let alone league. No need to embarrass yourself further thinking that this cosmic rod means you can hang with the big boys," Bruno tore into the leader of the Rogues, who merely scoffed dismissively.
Standing his ground, Captain Cold amended his initial offer. "$75,000, and if you're the big leagues no wonder Superman doesn't even bother cleaning up your messes anymore. With your track record now, he probably has more trouble saving a cat from a tree. I'd start thinking twice, Bruno. Don't want to blow your budget on your next botched operation."
A brief smirk crossed Mannheim's face before firing back, "Likewise, Snart. Ya know, didn't think you had the fortitude but I'll bite. $80,000, and that's just from one offshore account Intergang has set up in places you aren't important enough to know about. Don't strain yourself trying to measure up to that."
"$100,000," Snart replied coolly, locking eyes with the equally bull-headed leader of Intergang.
"$125."
"$150."
"$175."
"1 Million Dollars!"
Every single head turned towards the direction of the adolescent sounding voice, emanating from above. Even Snart and Mannheim momentarily halted their verbal game of one-ups-manship to direct their attention towards the source of the voice from above.
All in unison, their collective eyes fell on the unlikely trio of Robin, Kid Flash and Speedy all positioned on the metal catwalk next to the ceiling scaffolding.
The teenaged speedster stood front and center with his signature jovial grin, the Boy Wonder playfully brandished one of his escrima sticks while (poorly) concealing a childish snicker through his other glove, and the ever vigilant Speedy had a trick arrow drawn back and aimed at the gathered mass of criminals.
"Sorry to break up the bromance, but you guys are seriously boring me to tears. And I stake out places with Batman of all people," Robin mocked while leaning against the railing.
"Yeah, and what's with the not-so-secret supervillain auction? You guys should've just put up a neon green sign outside if you were that desperate for attention. Now, I get Intergang wanting to be relevant again, but I expected more from you Snart," Kid Flash playfully scolded, his youthful swagger and cocky attitude only infuriating the leader of the Rogues even further.
"Well, it seems we have some unsupervised children who decided to involve themselves in matters that did not concern them. As responsible adults, it's only appropriate that we correct their impertinent and truly unacceptable behavior," Riddler smiled from corner to corner, secretly relishing the sudden solidarity that formed between the previously antagonistic factions.
"Screw that, Nygma! I say we kill 'em!" one thug declared, pounding his fists together while remaining oblivious to the Riddler's sarcasm.
"Been waiting a long time for this, bird boy," one of the Black Mask enforcers grinned, shaking off the initial surprise and cocking a handgun.
"Yeah, when we get done there won't be enough of ya to send back to the Bat!"
"Snart, I changed my mind. If any of you three can kill the brats before I do I'll let you have the rod," Bruno growled menacingly, reaching into his jacket for a weapon as his redhead lieutenant did the same.
"Much obliged, Mannheim," Cold nodded in appreciation, before producing his patented cold-gun. "Daddy Flash isn't here to save you this time, kid."
"You're right, Snart. At least now you can't talk your way out of getting your butt handed to you twice by yours truly," Kid Flash shot back confidently.
"Auction's over. You have two options. Option A: you all put down your weapons, walk out of here in handcuffs and sing kumbaya all the way to Belle Reve. Option B: you make this a lot more painful on yourselves, and get stretchered there anyways," Speedy declared simply, his ultimatum as straight-forward as the arrow currently drawn back towards them.
A brief silence was exchanged between the criminal congregations as they considered his ultimatum, one that naturally only lasted for a few seconds.
While the bass in his voice perhaps would've intimidated some of them individually, as a collective they all burst out into laughter much to the archer's chagrin.
"Told ya we should've went with my line," Kid Flash whispered sarcastically to the now annoyed archer, keeping his arrow drawn as the rambunctious laughter finally began to die down.
The gathered factions and crime families continued to exchange amused glances and smirks before brandishing their melee weapons, specialty weapons and automatic guns, with only the Riddler quietly backing away from the center stage to avoid being caught in the impending crossfire.
"I prefer Option C, mate," Boomerang smirked deviously, before snapping out a boomerang from his coat and hurling it towards the heroes.
At that very moment, all hell broke loose.